


Life Is Not A Song

by writingramblr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A dream, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brothel owner!Petyr, Coming of Age, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Inspired by..., Manipulation, Master of coin!Varys, Romance, Season 1 Reimagined, Season/Series 01, Seduction, Sexual Content, and, but - Freeform, but sansa is clever too, creepyship, entire series AU, petyr is still a master manipulator, sansa runs away from home, semi canon ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7390339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark discovers this when she finds out she is to be married off to a monster, so she flees Winterfell, bent on finding the man who her mother spoke highly, and lowly, of.</p><p>She doesn't know or care that he might not be what she is expecting, but she knows he will help her. </p><p>He has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written from my twisted mind and with the help of this gifset 
> 
> http://thefudge.tumblr.com/post/138997059898/
> 
>  
> 
> i suck at distances so lets just pretend Winterfell and Kings Landing are closer than they appear >.>
> 
> also, sansa is canon tv season 1 age which is about 13, and i'm writing petyr as slightly younger than Cat but closer to 35 than anything else.
> 
> ok thanks enjoy!
> 
> (this is how i'll survive until s7, wild nasty AU's with lots of smut)

Petyr Baelish was tidying up his office, waiting patiently for the appointed lunch hour to roll around, when he would be departing his brothel to join Varys for the meal, and preferably a glass or two of wine.

The week was half over but it had already been more than trying. He’d lost two girls to unplanned pregnancies, and one who’d run off, screaming that she loved the man who’d been coming to see her regularly.

She’d been quite problematic and he’d sent one of his men after her, hoping to more than silence her permanently.

Petyr sighed and snuck another glance at his makeshift clock outside, on the terrace and he saw he still had a few more minutes to go.

Before he could start another project to kill the time, there was a harsh rapping on his office door.

Gritting his teeth he called out,

“What is it?”

The door cracked slightly, and his right hand woman, Ros smiled somewhat apologetically.

“I’m sorry to bother you sir, but we’ve got a new arrival, and she’s quite pretty. I thought you might want to see her, before telling her to…look elsewhere for employment.”

Normally, Petyr wouldn’t care, and Ros went through all the girls evaluations until she deemed them ready to interview with him, but he was desperate for something to do, so he waved her on.

“Go on dear, just over there, in front of his desk.”

Ros spoke so softly, like she was comforting a lost kitten.

Petyr sat up at once, straight in his chair as a wisp of a girl walked in slowly, head bent low, hiding her face, but her hair was a brilliant shade of red, and her robes, though tattered and torn, revealed bits of pale creamy skin here and there.

Ros nodded to him and then turned, pulling the door shut behind her.

Petyr leaned closer, hunching slightly over his desk, prepared to snap his fingers to get the girls attention, but no need, she looked up at him, as if emerging from a cocoon of fire, so brilliant was her hair, now the sunlight was shining directly on it.

His heart clenched in his chest, and as he took in her bright blue eyes, gentle features, and delicate bone structure he couldn’t help but think he’d hit the jackpot.

“Are you Littlefinger? Petyr Baelish?”

He smiled carefully, trying not to appear too smug. The little thing knew his name already? Delightful.

“Yes sweetling, I am him. What should I call you? Something more than ‘Red’ I think…”

He got up from his chair, walked around his desk and stopped right beside her, leaning back against the wooden frame, before reaching out to capture a lock of the red waving flame in his fingers. Soft, so soft, as if she’d just washed it, although she’d clearly been on the run a couple days at least.

Her mouth parted slightly, but it seemed her words were trapped in her throat.

The sight was just enough to make him forget about his formerly important lunch plans, and to wish he could devour her for lunch instead,

“I’m not sure I should say…I’ve come to you for help. I’ve run away from my home, rather than be forced to marry a monster.”

Petyr’s finger’s froze, and he blinked down at her, once, twice, finding his bearings.

There _had_ been a missing persons report that had swept across his desk before he told Ros to dispose of it.

_‘STARK Royal Betrothal On Hold While Daughter Still Missing’_

That’s what the scroll had read.

Then the frantic one from Cat, who he had favored with a quick scan and then promptly tossed into the fireplace.

“How old are you?”

He asked, instead of further pressing for her name. He suspected he knew _exactly_ who she was now.

It made sense.

Tully blue eyes and hair like the setting sun.

The girl licked her lips and then looked right into his eyes, not quite flooring him with the innocent power behind them,

“I’ve just turned thirteen Mister Baelish.”

A delicate morsel indeed.

Likely still a virgin too.

Oh, Petyr would have to beg Varys for his apologies later, for there was a much more pressing matter at hand.

An escaped bird inside his office.

“Call me Petyr.” His hand lifted from her hair, letting the scarlet wave fall back in place over a revealed stretch of skin, and he moved to touch her face, stroking her cheek gently, before feeling her nod.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa wasn’t sure quite what in the seven hells had gotten into her in the last few days.

First she’d stolen a horse from her family, before that, she’d packed a bag of food and prepared to simply hide out in the Godswood until winter came, if need be.

But then, then she heard her father talking, and saying that without her marriage to the future King, there might be war.

She couldn’t live with that kind of pressure, not when Arya could just as easily marry the brat prince and future King.

It was absolute madness, but so was he.

He scared her.

He’d nearly been defeated by Robb in a sword fight, just playing around, but then, the rage he’d shown, almost kicking her Direwolf and making fun of Bran and Rickon for being small, (they were barely five summers old!) she had had enough.

There was no way she was going to marry that child and give herself to him.

She still believed in true love, princes and fairy tales and happy endings, sweet kisses and gentle songs, but she knew that some things were not right, and if she could have any say in her future, she damned well would.

So she left, in the middle of the night, when the entire household was asleep, even the royal guests.

Most likely they’d sleep long and deep from the amount of wine they’d consumed the night before, but she still moved as quietly as she could, and stole away with just a small satchel of food.

Kings Landing wasn’t far, just four days ride, but she knew exactly where she would go.

Her mother’s best friend, well, former best friend, lived just inside the walls, working in what could only be called a place of ill repute.

Sansa blushed even now as she clung to her horse, frozen from the night, but thawing slowly, for the forest had ended, and the sandy bricks of the castle were visible now.

She was almost there, almost safe.

She figured hiding in plain sight would be her best bet, because one could never truly run and escape the Lannisters.

The gates opened at dawn, and she rode in carefully, watching every person who looked to her. She no longer looked like herself, like a highland lady from the North, her dress was tattered from the scratch and pull of branches, and she’d long run out of food, but it didn’t matter, cause she could sell the horse for some easy money if she needed to.

In fact, she was ready to do just that.

It only cost her a few coin to find out the precise location of Littlefinger’s Brothel, and when she finally stood before it, she only paused for a moment to gather her wits and take a breath, before stepping inside.

She looked anything like a paying customer, so she was told to wait.

She pleaded her case to the kindly looking girl who’d stopped her, and her plump cheeks smiled, and she nodded when Sansa asked if Sir Baelish could see her.

“You’re lucky, he hasn’t left for his lunch yet, otherwise I wouldn’t let you stay. Unfortunately some of our clientele is less than,” Ros glanced up and down at her attire, “Discreet. They’d probably scare you off.”

Sansa wasn’t sure quite what she was being told. Was she still appealing in this manner of dress? Looking more like a hobo than a prostitute?

Men were bizarre creatures, she finally thought to herself. Capable of lusting after even the most hideous of girls.

She shrugged it off, and waited carefully behind Ros as she knocked on the door to which had to be Littlefinger’s office.

When she was finally beckoned inside, she looked to Ros only a moment, fear just slightly licking the side of her face, like a very discomforting wolf, before she vanished behind the door.

Before she could fall into a bow, Sansa found herself staring at the floor, afraid to look at him, afraid he could recognize her and report her crimes, and have her shipped back to the north before she could even plead her case.

He spoke to her kindly enough, treating her rather like a child.

She bristled.

Maybe fairy tales and Knights were things of myth, but she was not her sister, she was almost a woman, truly enough.

She looked up at him, prepared to stand tall, defiant, but then he was swooping around his desk, and upon her.

She found it difficult to breath.

He was incredibly handsome.

Older, yes, dangerous, _very_ , but there was something so alluring about him. He had hair the color of charcoal and smoke, and eyes that glittered like green gems in the sunlight spilling into the room from the open windows.

In some ways, a lot of ways, he greatly resembled a snake, but also her salvation. Perhaps he was one of the Seven in disguise?

He told her to call him by his first name, yet it felt heavy on her tongue, and she wasn’t sure if she could grant herself the privilege of that, without having thought up a name to give him for her.

The way he looked at her, the way he was holding her face in his palm, it was all so different from how Father held her before he’d kissed her goodnight on her forehead, and sent her off to her doomed final rest.

She felt the heat from his skin seeping into her own, fanning a strange sort of flame that was licking at her stomach and threatening to make her want to tear off her clothes for relief from the burn.

“Yes, Petyr.”

She finally answered, and he pressed closer, shaking somewhat, she could feel, his thumb drifted across the apple of her cheek, and his face was so close she could taste his breath, it was minty and cold.

“Tell me sweetling, what should I call you?”

He was diverting, no longer on the path that seemed to end with his lips on her own, but now he was moving towards her neck, down her jaw, and his other hand was gripping her shoulder, three fingers holding tight to bare skin, while the others perched just below, on the scraps of fabric still clinging to her body.

“Uh, my name is,” Sansa tried, but failed, her mind seeming to melt into mush, not unlike her usual morning breakfast, when his lips made contact with her neck, and his teeth nipped at the skin there.

Her entire body jerked, closer to him, and she felt his breathing speed up.

What was happening?

She was telling him a false name…she was going to uphold the game, the plan, as long as possible.

But he was…bewitching her mind…her body, her soul, they seemed to want to leave her, and cleave to him.

Her hands pressed against his chest, and she was pushing away, yet her fingers betrayed her, weaving tightly to the edges of his jacket, holding him tighter.

“ _Yes?_ ”

Now he was licking over the spot he’d bit, quite gently, but nonetheless it would sting in the morning, she was sure.

He continued down, grazing his lips over her collarbone, and then he was smelling her hair, and sighing quietly.

She gulped, and focused on the whiteness of her knuckles as she gripped onto him,

“Sansa Stark.”

He paused, mouth still poised above the stretch of skin exposed by her ripped neckline, and Sansa’s own eyes went wide at her own foolishness.

“I mean…I’m not her, I’m her handmaiden.”

She finished lamely.

That had been the wrong thing to say, she could feel it, as his hands tightened further on her, and she began to feel bruises forming from his subtle strength.

He pulled back and stood straight before her again, looming over her just by a few inches, but it was enough.

“Don’t lie to me. Why would any maid be in danger of a forced marriage?”

His hands were moving, sliding up and loosening their grip slightly, as they moved to her collarbones and just shy of her neck. He could kill her, faster than a cobra striking, if he wanted. He could cripple her, leave her a crumpled mess at his feet, drowning in her own blood.

Sansa was truly at a loss now. She was trapped.

In more ways than one.

She bit her lip, determined not to cry, not to break, not to wilt. She was not a flower, ripe to be picked and handed off to the highest bidder, she was a branch, bending to the wind, but standing strong with the roots of the main tree feeding her life.

“I apologize. You’re right. I am Sansa. I’ve run away from home, come to you, to ask for your help. No, to beg you for your help.”

Quickly, she dropped to her knees, forming the lowest bow she could, and he was so surprised by the move, he let go of her almost instantly.

She could see black leather peeking out from beneath his robes, and she wondered how far gone it would be to kiss his boots.

If he asked her, she would.

For now, she waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petyr does know quite a bit more than he lets on, cause that's just how he is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine petyr in the spirit of the dos equis guy "I don't always sample the goods, but when i do, its because its Sansa Stark"
> 
> not that she's gonna be one of the ladies of the night, or afternoon...yet...

Petyr hadn’t intended to frighten her so much, for when she fell from him, he thought she’d fainted. But she merely was kneeling before him, prostrate at his feet.

So long and limber of body was she, that he could still reach out and shove his hands in that perfect red mane of hers, and press her face right against his groin, make her beg indeed.

He was already half hard from the little noises she’d made, completely unconsciously, while he’d been kissing her neck and beyond, just his own little pleasurable experiment, to see if he could pluck the answers from her while she was unawares.

It had worked, stunningly well.

But it seemed she disliked being called a liar, for no sooner had he pushed, just slightly at her, then she’d bent and broken and confessed.

“Sansa.”

He tested the word, the name, on his tongue, and found it tasted sweet, and delicate, just like he imagined _she_ would.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes damp with unshed tears, and he instantly wanted nothing more than to see that perfect face flushing, while the rest of the brothel heard her screams of delight.

“Yes?”

Petyr found himself smiling, gently, and kneeling down to meet with her.

“I will help you, of course. I’m honored you came to me. However, a highborn lady such as yourself should not be seen entering a place like this…people could talk.”

He reached out to touch her again, carefully, so slowly, like she was a cornered frightened animal, but this time, she seemed to accept it, and nuzzled against his open palm on her cheek. _So this was truly the eldest daughter of his lost childhood love, Catelyn Stark._

“You’re right, of course. But I do not look like myself, so I was surely not seen and thought of as a Stark.”

Petyr bit his lip, before nodding.

“That is true. You look more like a street mouse than anything. Shall we get you cleaned up? Cloaked in finery once more?”

He began to rise, and held out his hand for her to take, which she did, reluctantly almost, as if she liked being on her knees before him.

That was interesting.

“Where will I go? Where can I stay? I had thought, I would stay here, work for you, and remain in hiding. I know they’ll be looking for me, soon enough when they discover I’m gone.”

Petyr felt a sudden flare of anger inside him, burning right through the foggy cloud of lust attempting to rule his thoughts, at the idea of any of the sort of men he usually catered to and provided carnal delights for, even so much as _looking_ at her.

“You will not need to work _for_ me, not as the other girls do. You may stay _with_ me here, in my office, as my personal secretary. No one will think anything other than I found a girl whom I could not let go onto the floor. I had to have you to myself.”

Another smile, this time a little tighter, less open, but Sansa looked quite relieved. He imagined that if indeed she was a virgin, ( _what else could she be_?) that she did not want to lose herself in a place like this.

But it was brave of her to be prepared to.

“I have excellent penmanship, my septa has told me. I can write your letters for you, and maintain your books, if you’d like.”

With carnal things immediately dismissed, Sansa seemed to light up from within, spilling forth with ideas for how she could serve him.

Petyr was delighted at how eager she was.

“Of course. I have a feeling you will be incredibly useful. There is one thing, we will need to do something about your hair. It is extremely familiar, and will be a dead giveaway for anyone visiting from the North.”

Sansa lifted a hand to grasp a handful of the crimson waves, and she looked at it, before looking to him, forehead wrinkling in confusion,

“Must I cut it?”

Petyr shook his head,

“No sweetling. Ros will help you color it. I think darker. More like a deep brown, almost black. It will be striking with your pale skin, but just enough of a difference to make you invisible.”

Sansa nodded slowly,

“All right. If you think I will look good, I’ll do it.”

Petyr smirked,

“I think you would look good with any shade, and as tempting of a morsel as you look in those tattered rags, we need to find you something more suitable.”

Her cheeks were slightly pinker, nearing her hair color, and Petyr almost felt sorry.

She was a gorgeous girl, on the verge of becoming a woman, so she needed to get used to it.

He did try to be as gentle as he could, not wanting to scare her, with his true thoughts, or the unfiltered sort of talk that rougher men than he would be uncouth and speak freely.

“I think black or silver, would suit you best.”

He moved away from her, and walked to the nearest closet, which held mostly items of clothing for him, should he need to change and visit the Landing, or be called away on business.

It also had a dozen women’s gowns, for emergencies such as this.

If a client was too rough, and damaged the girl’s dress, they would pay extra, and the girl would be summoned to his office, where he’d pass her a new outfit until she could find a moment to shop for one, and bring his back, washed fresh.

In a way, they were recycled.

From so much washing and returning, they also were a bit smaller than would usually be.

He prayed that he would have one that could fit Sansa…just…right.

Flicking through the fabric, his hand alighted on one that was a powdery grey, not quite shimmering silver. Just a hint of blue thread was woven throughout, in the shape of flowers, and he grinned.

It would be perfect for her.

“What do you think?”

He plucked it out, and held it before her, letting the sunlight catch on the front, revealing the intricate swirls and shapes of blue against grey.

Sansa’s eyes went wide, and her perfect pink lips parted in delight,

“It’s beautiful Sir Baelish…but I couldn’t accept this. I have no way to pay you for it.”

Petyr’s own eyes followed the lines of her body he could see, beyond the rips and tears in the fabric of her dress, and he shook his head,

“You owe me nothing for it. Consider it a gift. You can repay me by being a faithful secretary, and a true keeper of my secrets and all business exchanges you may witness behind closed doors…do you understand?”

Sansa nodded immediately, and stepped closer to him, one hand carefully outstretched for the dress, which he gave her.

“Where shall I change? There’s no screen here…”

Sansa’s words trailed off, and Petyr’s throat seemed to tighten.

“You may go undress over there, I’ll step outside onto the balcony…give you some privacy.”

Every word killed him to say, for there was nothing more he wanted in that moment than to be witness to her, shedding the veritable skin of the old, her home in the North, and donning the new, his gilded cage of a dress, welcoming her to the dangerous world of his whispers and secrets.

“Okay.”

She answered softly, and he began to move away, but then a small delicate hand was on his arm, and he turned back to see her eyes wide, and her bottom lip captured between her teeth,

“I need help undoing the back laces. They seem to be the only part that did not tear or loosen. I have no lady’s maid anymore…”

She trailed off, and her cheeks were once again flushed.

It embarrassed her to ask him this favor.

The poor sweet bird.

“Of course. I can help you as much you want. Simply tell me when to look away, to stop, and I will.”

Sansa nodded, and then moved over to where she could set the new dress carefully on the back of a chair, and turned to present her back to him, lifting her hair out of the way, and revealing the tightly woven laces.

There was a small tear below her right shoulder blade, revealing the edge of her corset, so he knew, once he helped her out of her dress, she would not be completely naked beneath it. Somewhat of a disappointment but also a small relief.

He did not want her to feel in any danger from him.

The instant his hands met her bare skin above the laces she jumped, and Petyr smiled, though she could not see.

“It’s all right. I see where it ties.”

He made quick work of the knots, and then yanked swiftly, undoing the back in one movement. The fabric parted, and slid down her arms, leaving her shoulders, and neck bare to his view.

The corset covered her lower back to the swell of her buttocks, and there was delicate silk hiding that as well. Her underclothes.

“Thank you.”

She said, and he gathered the entirely unspoken meaning to her words, so he stepped away, hands off, and began to leave her, albeit reluctantly.

The afternoon sunshine was harsh, and warm, even as a cool breeze blew through Kings Landing, and ruffled the front of his hair, cooling the skin beneath. He didn’t realize he’d been sweating until just then.

She made him a little nervous.

“Okay, I’m done. You can come back.”

She called, after just a few moments.

The dress he’d given her had no laces, in fact, was a simple peasant design that just slide over top and down.

Petyr stepped back into his office, grateful for the somewhat darkness after such harsh sunlight, and nearly stumbled over the rise in the carpet when he saw her.

She was smiling nervously, and smoothing down the front of the dress, hair covering much of the low neckline in ruby waves.

The color was indeed very complimentary to her skin, instead of making her seem paler, it made her seem pinker, like peaches and cream had melted to form the body of a goddess, with the sky in her eyes.

Petyr found himself clenching his hands together in front of his chest, lest he stride the final distance between them and rip the dress right off of her.

“You look incredible Sansa.”

He said instead.

“Thank you.”

She sounded surprised. As if she’d never been called anything but plain.

He knew she needed one final thing.

A cloak with a hood.

For when they left the brothel, she would need to be under more than the cover of darkness.

“Please, sit.”

He gestured to her, to perch beside his desk, and he carefully began to explain what she would be doing, indeed, beyond just writing up letters and transcription of exchanges and sales.


	4. Chapter 4

The journey to Littlefingers dwelling after he declared the end of his business time at the Brothel, for the day, was not a long one.

He lived in a modest sized home, almost the size of one third of the lodgings she’d left behind, but she knew it was only a temporary living space. He had his own large home north of Kings Landing and east of the Vale, the water surrounded lands fed by the Fingers. According to what she had overheard her mother say.

 

He pointed out the various rooms, the small kitchen, the living space, the guest room, where she would be, and his bedroom, which was at the end of the long hall.

“If you should need anything, simply knock on my door.”

He stopped short, instead of embracing her to bid her goodnight, like Sansa was used to from her father, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep well.”

He said the words in almost a whisper, and Sansa was left standing in the hallway, watching him vanish behind a heavy door, while her room lingered off to her right.

She had little to no possessions, just the small bag of money that remained from selling the horse, and the new dress she’d been gifted with. It was lucky her boots were as tough as they were, and she would likely not need new shoes for a good month.

Would she have to ask him for them? Or could she buy them? Would she earn actual coin for working for him?

Or was she to be paying off her dress first?

He’d said it was a gift, but she’d seen the way he looked at her, and she didn’t want to say she disliked it, for it made her skin hot, and her heart race, but she did know it was wrong, in a way.

He was only a couple years younger than her mother, so more than twice her age.

He’d also bought them dinner from a passing street vendor, who’s wares had made Sansa’s once quiet stomach roar to life, like a lion, and Petyr had actually laughed at her, but kindly.

“I skipped lunch to speak with you, you know.”

He had told her, somewhat sternly, but with a wry smile.

He confused her greatly.

She believed him when he said he wanted to help her, and that he did not wish to see her simply sold off like a girl from his business to the highest bidder, just because he happened to be the future king.

While she had not told him what she knew of Joffrey, what she’d seen while he’d stayed with her family, he seemed to have his own opinions of the royal family, and they were anything but positive.

At least he was on her side, even if no one else was.

That was Sansa’s final thought before she drifted off to sleep, comforted by the slight smell of mint emanating from the cushions and blankets beneath her.

After sleeping in Winterfell her whole life, no other nights could be as cold.

*

Petyr had never been a light sleeper, but with the special guest in his home, he suddenly couldn’t find sleep for the life of him.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he’d been half hard all day, and when he’d kissed the pretty thing goodnight, she’d sighed sweetly and almost whimpered.

That was probably part of it.

The fact he’d been walking around Kings Landing with her on his arm all evening as well, seen the way she lit up when he offered to buy her dinner, that had to do with it too.

Reluctantly, for he knew what he had to do to be able to perfectly relax and sleep, and so, he moved his hand from beneath his pillow to slid into his sleep pants; palming his throbbing cock, and it was like pure bliss, finally allowing himself to drown in the sensation; his mind’s eye flooded with the rapid fire images of _her_ , half dressed, kneeling before him, with that, it took only a slight push of his imagination to continue the scenario; her soft hands pulling open his slacks, revealing himself, hard for her, and those pretty lips wrapped around the head of it, while her hands stroked all that she couldn’t kiss.

Petyr was probably about thirty seconds from cresting, coming off right into his sleep pants, when a scream shattered the silence of the night.

He froze for only a handful of moments, before realizing it had to be Sansa. Abandoning his lustful thoughts, he jumped out of bed as fast as he could to run to her room.

Yanking open the door, he found her, writhing around atop the bed sheets, as if trying to fight off a demon in her sleep.

Her face was contorted in fear, and she seemed to be swinging her small fists at an invisible enemy. He swooped into the bed, placing his body over hers, locking her wrists in his hands before shouting at her, over the screams.

“Wake up! Wake up, it’s all right. I’m here.”

With a sudden jerk, and a loud gasp, Sansa’s eyes snapped open, and she focused on him almost at once.

“Petyr…”

Her voice was a raspy sort of cry, as if she’d made herself hoarse.

“Yes.”

He gentled atop her, shifting over so that he was just lying beside her, and he let go of her hands, but she immediately moved into him again, almost forcing him to wrap his arms around her.

“I had a terrible nightmare. I saw a battle, and my family, they were fighting green flames of fire.”

Petyr shushed her, and stroked his hand through her sweat dampened hair, murmuring words of comfort.

Unless she’d accidentally overheard some sort of Lannister battle plans, how could she know what Wildfire was?

She must have a very good imagination.

He knew, he wasn’t stupid, that the Lannisters were attempting to align with the North, with the Starks, to prevent them from turning against them, by joining the army of Stannis, the madman who thought he was the rightful king.

He didn’t seem to care he was about to try and commit treason against his own brother Robert.

Usually Petyr didn’t care much for politics, but when he tasted a change in the wind, he knew well enough he needed to make the correct choice, and begin funding the side he wanted to win, and who he knew _could_ win.

The missed meeting with Varys was concerning a growing threat beyond, across the Narrow sea, where rumors of living Dragons had stirred up.

An army versus a Dragon with a competent Ryder was no contest.

Petyr knew the stories of old.

He just planned and hoped to be in business with the more powerful of the sides in the upcoming war, no matter how threatening the Lannisters seemed, they were not all powerful.

“Sleep now, you’ll forget about it in the morning.”

He was saying, but even before he could finish, he saw that Sansa’s eyes had fallen shut, and her breathing had slowed, for she was just clad in her silk underslip, and her breasts were fairly visible in the pale moonlight leaking through the curtains.

His hands were shaking all of a sudden, and he wondered just how deeply she could sleep. His hand trailed down her neck from where he’d been stroking her forehead, gentle and slow, soothing, helping her relax. Her skin was still damp with sweat, and yet it almost seemed to sparkle to his eyes.

The edge of the lace trim was just a few inches shy of the swell of her breast, and indeed, he could see the pebbling of her nipples, whether from his touch, or simply the change in temperature as her body cooled from the feverish manner she’d worked herself into.

“So beautiful.”

He murmured to himself, and yes he knew it was horribly wrong, but she was out now, so he touched, lightly as he could, letting his fingers drift over and down until he reached the dip of her stomach, and the shadow of what lay beyond halted his hand.

He couldn’t do this.

How much more responsive and beautiful would she be if she knew what he planned to do while he was doing it?

She was still innocent. She needed time to blossom, and he would be the sun to help her bloom.

So he left her. Left her to her calmed dreams and uneventful sleep.

He returned to his room and found release picturing her coming undone beneath his fingers, clad in just that scrap of silk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops this chapter contains the longest run on sentence i can recall writing. 113 words of filth. im sure you can guess which paragraph it is haha


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Sansa awoke to the chirping of strange birds, and she was slightly disoriented, before remembering exactly where she was. She sat upright, and looked around the room she’d slept in, and something flashed through her mind, rough hands touching her softly, and a voice whispering in her ear that she was beautiful.

She’d had a nightmare too.

She’d not had a bad dream in many months, not since she was a little girl. She flushed with embarrassment that surely she’d woken Sir Baelish, and probably made him think twice about helping her.

But then she remembered.

He’d come to her.

He’d held her, stroked her hair and stayed until she fell asleep again.

She clutched at the sheets a few moments more, before breathing deeply and rising, preparing to dress and ask what she could do to prepare breakfast for him. It was the least she could do.

After lacing up her boots and stepping out into the hallway, she looked down to see his door open, bed made, and what seemed to be no sign of him.

Until…a clanking noise, from what had to be the kitchen caught her attention, and the closer she walked, the stronger the smell of sautéing herbs and meat grew.

Sansa turned the corner and found Petyr humming slightly, as he separated a freshly cooked mix of what had to be eggs and meat onto two plates, while twin cups sat beside the dishes, steaming as well.

Could it be the hot sweet beverage her mother made her for her birthday?

“What is this?”

She found herself asking, none too polite in her shock.

The man she could not decide to address as Sir or Petyr, for she still was unsure how she felt about him, looked to her with a kind smile.

“It’s breakfast. Do they not eat in the mornings at Winterfell?”

Sansa ducked her head, cheeks hot again,

“Of course, yes we do. But I just…It’s a wonderful surprise. First dinner, now this? I am overwhelmed by your hospitality.”

Petyr swept around to where she stood, and pulled out a chair for her at the small table, and she sat, gingerly, as if waiting to be told it was all a horrible mistake.

“I wonder if you know of this drink, they import the beans from the south, and grind them and wash them and press them with cold water, before you actually heat it again to drink. It’s fascinating really.”

Sansa took a small sip, and nearly moaned in delight.

It was the hot sweet beverage she imagined.

“It’s delicious. What do they call it?”

Petyr looked rather frozen for a moment, and she wondered if she’d been overly loud in her reaction.

“Uh, chocolate. Liquid ambrosia some say, but without any sort of intoxicating factor of wine.”

Sansa would never admit it, especially to a man who’s business clearly relied upon men being somewhat of drunkards, but she despised wine and other spirits. She’d be content with a goblet of the chocolate, cold or hot, any day.

“Thank you.”

Petyr lifted his cup in toast to her, before smiling,

“It’s my pleasure Sansa. After last night, I knew you would need nourishment. I hoped you would find some rest. Did you sleep any better after your bad dream?”

Sansa nearly dropped her first bite of food. So it had been more than a surreal dream. He had come to rescue her in the night from the green fire breathing dragon that had frightened her back into the real world.

“Yes, I did. I’m so sorry for waking you. I haven’t had an experience like that in a long time. I thought I was done with bad dreams.”

She looked away from him, afraid he would think her terribly pathetic and weak, for letting her own mind frighten her.

Petyr clicked his tongue, and shook his head.

“Don’t apologize, I told you, if you needed me, you need only ask. So you called out for me instead of knocking, the offer still stands. If you had sleep walked into my room and then screamed there, I still would have aided you best I could.”

Sansa winced, imagining that scenario, and shivered.

“I would have not blamed you for thinking I was possessed by a creature from the Seven.”

Petyr shrugged,

“I do not put much of my faith in the gods of the old or the new. Our fate is that but what we make of it. Whether or not one can predict the future or know what is to come with certainty, that is another matter.”

When Sansa had finished her breakfast, Petyr took away the dishes, and put them in the sink, letting them soak in what had to be soap infused water.

He returned to her side, and placed his hands on her shoulders, making her feel incredibly safe yet small.

“Now, when you come with me to work, now and for the foreseeable future, you will need to use a different name. Ros will be sworn to secrecy, and once she finishes your hair, you will be born anew. Alayne Stone. My niece, visiting from the Fingers. Do you understand?”

Sansa nodded slowly.

It made sense.

“You have a sister?”

Petyr chuckled, low and deep in his throat, and from how he was pressed against her, it seemed to vibrate through her entire body.

“No of course not. But no one else needs to know that. Now, come. We’ve tarried long enough.”

Sansa did as she was told, followed him out of his home and back to the streets, guided only by his hand linked in hers as they made their way back to the Brothel.

Ros greeted him warmly, and spared a softer glance for Sansa, before informing Petyr he had a guest waiting for him in his office, and the dye was prepared for her.

“Go on then. I will see you when you’re done, and we can go over the business from this morning at lunch.”

He squeezed her hand gently but otherwise did not touch her in parting.

Sansa followed Ros down an unfamiliar series of halls, and they came to a room swathed in pink and red light, from the fabric over the skylights, giving the appearance of being inside something dark, seductive, and dangerous.

“Now dear, Baelish tells me he wants to dye your pretty hair dark as a raven’s wing, is that right?”

Sansa nodded, though she was unsure that he’d really implied he wanted it that dark.

Ros seemed to sense her uncertainty.

“After a few bathings, it will fade to a nice brown, don’t you worry. Come here child.”

She laid a towel around Sansa’s shoulders, likely to help protect her dress from any color, and she helped Sansa lay back with her hair extended behind her, dipping into the basin filled with warm water.

“We’ll leave the color on as long as you can stand it, then it’ll be rinsed off, and left to air dry in the sunlight. Piece of cake.”

Sansa nodded again, and Ros got to work applying it.

 

 

*

 

Petyr was unsurprised to find Varys in his office, looking rather smug.

“What brings you here? Surely you haven’t grown back your manhood, and are in need of company?”

Petyr couldn’t help kidding him, and Varys rolled his eyes slightly, before shaking his head, and taking a seat opposite Petyr’s desk.

“Nothing you have to offer in your place of business. I do have some troubling reports from my birds in the North. I don’t suppose you know anything about the missing Stark girl? The oldest daughter of Eddard Stark, hand of the king, host to the Queen and her eldest Son this past month?”

Petyr took a seat behind his desk, slowly steepling his fingers together atop the wood,

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. Certainly I have received a raven from the North, but it was simply a friendly correspondence from Lady Stark. I do apologize for being unable to meet you yesterday, a sudden influx of business came up here, demanding my immediate attention.”

Varys nodded,

“Not at all, not at all. I understand you have your work, as I have mine. I do hope you’ll inform me of any changes. The queen and her kin are headed back here in the next few days, and I’m certain if she needs to find a new future wife for her eldest, she’ll be turning her gaze from the North to the South, Southwestern to be precise. My birds tell me that young Margaery Tyrell has just recently become widowed. Rumors of the boy’s cause of death include by a shadow, and even perhaps his own knight, who is actually a woman.”

Petyr was surprised to hear this, for though he knew Stannis was hell bent on trying to take Kings Landing, in the next coming months, he did not know that the man’s younger brother had died.

“It will be interesting to see what House Tyrell does next.”

He offered.

Varys raised an eyebrow,

“An alliance between the two would mean the Lannister’s army would more than double. Quite bad news for Stannis and his brigade, ships or not.”

Petyr grinned,

“If he thinks he could take Kings Landing with a navy and won’t need a marching army, he’s more than mad, he’s delusional.”

Varys sighed,

“Indeed, even if the rumors across the Narrow sea are true, that Dragons still live, the Lannisters will continue to be a force to be reckoned with.”

Petyr examined one of his rings,

“When will you have more solid confirmation about the Targaryen children, and if they do have what they say?”

Varys blinked,

“Why, as soon as the storm over the sea clears up, and my birds can get my messages to me. I’ve been blind for the last two days, while the rains keep the skies dark.”

Petyr snorted,

“That’s what you get for relying on animals to carry messages.”

Varys was on the verge of rolling his eyes again, but instead he stood quickly,

“Well, none of your spies can swim for a constant three days, I’d wager. Nor your whores.”

Petyr grinned,

“You’ve got me there.”

“Good day, Sir Baelish.”

“Good day to you as well.”

They nodded to each other, and Varys saw himself out.

Petyr leaned back against his chair, exhaling slowly.

It wasn’t hard to lie, in fact, he made a living out of it, but for some reason, lying to Varys always made him uneasy.

It was as if the man could see right through him.

He wondered how Sansa was doing…

No. Alayne. He needed to think of her like that, or else she would be discovered, and his entire plan would come crumbling down like a house made of snow in the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because petyr cooking breakfast is always a win 
> 
>  
> 
> quoting cinema wins there...ish


	6. Chapter 6

Her scalp had begun to burn after just a few moments, but Sansa had gritted her teeth and remained silent until she could truly bear it no longer.

“Please, wash it off.”

She heard herself begging, even as she fisted her hands so tightly her nails cut into her palms, and Ros finally granted her wish, slowly running fresh water over her hair, and washing away the pain.

After another eternity, she could feel her hair drying, and warming, thanks to the brilliant sunshine flooding the open window, and when Ros tapped her shoulder gently, Sansa stirred.

She must have fallen asleep, thanks to the gap in her rest from the night before.

“How does it look?”

She asked instantly and Ros smiled,

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

She held out her hand to Sansa, and helped her to her feet, guiding her to the floor length mirror in the corner, and Sansa gasped aloud.

It was incredibly striking, the way the utter dark waves of her hair contrasted with her skin, and indeed, now she seemed even paler.

“I love it.”

 She whispered, and Ros was smiling beside her in the mirror.

“He will too.”

There was no doubt who she meant.

Not five seconds later there was a knocking on the door, and Sansa felt her heart leap into her throat, as Ros left her side, to answer it, she attempted to breathe steadily.

“Come see.”

Ros was saying, and Sansa looked over to see Petyr, stepping into the room, and his eyes landed on her at once.

She felt trapped, like a butterfly pinned to a wall, under the weight of his gaze. Oh he liked it. He couldn’t seem to look away from her.

He walked close until he was only a few scant inches away, and she watched as he licked his lips, and trailed his gaze from the top of her head down to where the longest strands brushed just below her breasts.

She felt as if she should tell him to stop, that surely he’d gathered whether or not the color suited her, but she couldn’t find the strength to speak.

She looked over his shoulder and noticed that Ros was gone.

They were alone together. In the room that spoke of dark and forbidden things, tinted the hue of lips and hearts and roses.

“You look incredible, Alayne.”

Petyr was smirking slightly at her, and then she remembered. She was Sansa no longer.

For her own protection.

“Thank you…uncle Petyr.”

She tested the words, and they sounded all right, even though they tasted like a lie.

Petyr was almost close enough now for her to lean in and kiss him herself, but instead, she breathed deep the scent of him, minty and something like the sweet of the chocolate that they’d drank at breakfast, so long ago.

That was why he’d come for her. To take her to lunch.

Right.

Not to seduce her.

“Are you ready?”

He whispered the words, and they seemed to caress her ears, her very skin.

Her eyes drifted shut completely of their own accord, and she did let herself fall forward,

“Yes.”

She whispered back.

“Wonderful. Let’s go.”

His lips did meet her skin, but just a soft brisk brush against her cheeks, even as his beard scraped over her mouth, she seemed to wake from a daze as he took her arm in his.

He was probably going to laugh at her now, for being so foolish, for acting like she’d been ready for him to really kiss her.

“Don’t worry. Someday soon.”

He said, as soon as they’d stepped outside, into the sunshine, and Sansa wondered if she’d imagined it.

But the promise of ‘Someday’ was plenty enough for her now.

Lunch was a hurried affair, for as soon as the last crumb had left her fingers, Petyr was ushering her back to the brothel, babbling on about figures and facts that needed checking, and how she would certainly have plenty to do this afternoon.

She sat beside him, perched on the small stool that looked more like a footrest than an actual chair, and he explained how he wanted things sorted, and the proper place to file bills paid, and those in need of payment.

Once he’d stopped instructing, she began to work in silence, only breaking that silence to ask a question, or confirm the papers were going in the right spot.

The final time Sansa looked up, to ask one more question, she realized it had gotten dark outside, and found Petyr was watching her, leading her to blush in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I guess I got absorbed in my work.”

Petyr shook his head,

“Don’t apologize sweetling. I think it’s admirable. It must mean you like it, even a little. I was just admiring how your hair looks, even without sunlight to show off the shine.”

Sansa smiled,

“Yeah, I do like it. The numbers seem to speak to me like no history or English texts ever could.”

Petyr got up from his spot behind the desk, and came to stand behind her, hands upon her shoulders,

“I’d delighted to hear that. Are you ready to go home, or would you rather burn the midnight oil?”

He was teasing her, one hundred percent, but she didn’t mind, she decided.

“Perhaps another time. I am quite tired, I find.”

She looked up and him, and smiled, and noticed that the way he was looking back at her was not quite admiring, more like the way a predator eyed its prey.

“Come then, let us go home, Alayne.”

He held out his hand to her, and she took it, letting him lead her away from the desk, and she almost swore she was in a daze until they reached his house.

Dinner was a brief affair, and Sansa found herself nodding off halfway through her plate, so Petyr whisked it away, and ended up scooping her into his arms, carrying her bridal style to her room.

As he set her down, he placed a kiss on her forehead, and whispered,

“Dream of only good things tonight.”

Sansa smiled lazily and nodded.

“I’ll try.”

She didn’t notice how he helped her out of her shoes, and even had somewhat undressed her, until she woke up in the middle of the night, beneath the covers, clad in only her silks.

She pressed a hand to her forehead, almost feeling the echo of his lips on her skin, and would have turned over to go back to sleep when she heard something.

A voice.

Something that sounded very much like her name.

Sansa crept out of her bed, slowly walking to her door, and cracked it open to peer down the hallway.

Petyr’s door was closed tight, but that was where the sounds were coming from.

She tiptoed down the hall, afraid to call out, for what if he was merely asleep and dreaming of her, and calling for her? What if he was dreaming of peril?

Her palm flattened on his door, and she pushed, and it opened. It had not been locked.

Petyr could be just barely seen, lying upon his bed, only one hand visible, grasping at the blankets beside him, while the other seemed to be inside his trousers, moving upon something.

Sansa crept closer, and then froze.

He was in fact saying her name, but also attached to the sort of words and wishes that she only imagined could be witnessed inside his brothel.

From her minimal knowledge of the male body, he was touching himself where the difference existed between them.

The fever she’d felt when he’d kissed her over her neck, and driven her nearly out of her mind, was rising again.

She couldn’t stop herself. She moved closer, until she was standing right over him, and she leaned in, stealing a kiss from his frantic lips.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans self* oh my we're sinning now

Petyr was lost, drowning in the painful pleasure just before he could feel the cusp of his orgasm calling to him, its siren song filling his mind and vision, turning it almost white.

He was gasping Sansa’s name, and desperately begging for her to touch him, fuck him, suck him, kiss him, just anything to spur him on.

To his extreme surprise, on the final upward stroke, as the coil tightened and sprung, and he felt himself coming and crashing over the edge, a soft pair of lips did indeed brush over his own.

His eyes snapped open, and his free hand reached up to find Sansa herself, leaning over him, clad in just her night dress, and looking rather like a siren herself in the moonlight.

“Petyr! I’m sorry I heard you, I thought you were in distress.”

The kiss had broken the instant his hand made contact with her body.

He spun them both, so that she was now trapped beneath his still shaking body, the inside of his sleep pants now damp from his release, but having her there, in his bed, was far better than any fantasy he could dream up.

“So you thought you’d come rescue me did you?”

He leaned in, whispering harshly against her ear, fully prepared to nip and bite at her neck, when she nodded, and continued,

“But then I saw you…touching yourself, but still speaking of me…what were you thinking about me?”

Petyr smirked against her neck, knowing she could not see,

“Oh sweetling, I do not wish to corrupt your innocent mind before you’re ready.”

So instead, he mouthed over her collarbone, and down her shoulder, letting the heat from his lips seep into her skin through the thin fabric.

But she responded beautifully, bucking up against him, arching her back so that her breasts rubbed on his chest, and her sex brushed against his still semi hard cock hidden in his pants.

“Please tell me…help me to stifle the fire that’s raging inside of me.”

Could it be? Did he really arouse her as she did him?

Petyr inhaled a shaky breath, and reached down, past the hem of her slip, to stroke along the inside of her thigh, and she moaned softly.

“I haven’t even touched you yet…”

He sighed.

“You’re touching me now.”

She countered, and he chuckled,

“Technically, yes. But this,” He drew up the rest of the way, finding the cleft between her legs, barely hidden beneath the fabric, and he nearly groaned aloud, “Is where it really matters.”

His fingers just trailed through the small patch of hair above her sex, and she was already shivering beneath him, before he’d even pressed a finger between the nether lips, and found her slippery and warm.

“That feels…”

She trailed off into a gasp, unable to form and find the words it seemed.

Petyr pressed a soft kiss to her jawline and trailed back up to her mouth, stopping just before kissing her there,

“Just feel.”

He kissed her, and pressed his tongue to the seam of her lips as he pushed a finger inside of her, slowly, carefully, and his thumb swirled slow circles on the hard nub just above her entrance.

If she’d really never done anything, experimented with herself or otherwise, she was in for a treat.

It wasn’t long before he could feel her inner walls trembling around his fingers, for now he’d worked two inside, and he pumped them in and out steadily as he moved his thumb over her, and it wasn’t much later that she broke the kiss to gasp and her hands found his shoulders, gripping tightly, as she moved her hips steadily against his hand, fucking herself on his fingers until the shockwaves of her climax dispersed.

“Holy seven…what was that?”

She collapsed back on his bed, panting slightly, and there was a sheen of sweat upon her forehead and over her breasts, nearly making the fabric transparent.

Petyr eyed them hungrily, but knew there would be plenty of time for touching her there, another time.

“That was how you put the fever out, just a little stoking of the fire, actually can defeat it.”  


Sansa shook her head, somewhat sleepily.

“You’re not making sense Petyr…”

Petyr moved to lay beside her, absentmindedly stroking a hand over her stomach, while he brought the other, the hand he’d had inside her to his lips, making sure she wasn’t paying attention as he licked them, just seeing how she tasted, for another time.

Like the air after a fresh rainfall, or fresh honeydew that’d been harvested under the moon.

“Love never does.”

He finally answered, long after he knew she’d drifted off.

*

When Sansa awoke in a strange place for the second time in two days, she was overly cautious. Until she realized it was still Petyr’s house, but now she was in his bedroom.

The events of the previous night came rushing back, and she gulped, turning to look over, but finding the bed empty.

She fell back against the pillows, slightly overwhelmed.

What had happened?

She’d gotten up after hearing him in trouble, come to his room, found he was perfectly all right, but instead of leaving him alone to his business, she’d kissed him, and gotten pulled into bed with him.

He’d done nothing to harm her, in fact, at the memory she couldn’t help smiling brightly, he had made her feel like no one ever had before.

There had been a veritable explosion of something wonderful inside of her, starting from between her legs, and he’d kissed her so fiercely and deeply, she’d sworn she’d seen heaven, or something like it.

She laid there, for a few moments, gathering her thoughts, and preparing what she would say to him.

But this morning he came to her instead. Humming again, as he did the morning before, Petyr appeared in his bedroom doorway, but his hands were empty but for a glass of clear water.

“Here, drink this. You need your strength after last night.”

Sansa sat up straighter at once, and clutched the sheets to herself,

“Wait, what? Did something more than I remember happen?”

Her mind was racing, trying to recall anything beyond him touching her and falling asleep, but for the life of her she could not.

Petyr must have noticed her horrified expression and was quick to soothe her fears,

“No, not at all sweetling. I just meant since you worked so hard, I thought perhaps you’d strained your eyes.”

He perched beside her on the edge of the bed, and handed her the glass, which she took, reluctantly, until she took a sip, and could not stop drinking it.

Nothing had ever tasted as cold or refreshing as that water.

“Whoa there, slow down lest you drown.”

Sansa finally did pause, and she smiled up at him gratefully,

“Thank you for thinking of me. You’re too good to me. I wonder if I will ever be able to repay you.”

Petyr wasn’t meeting her gaze, but a smirk was threatening to take over his lips,

“I could think of many ways you could, but I do wish to impose anything you wouldn’t be comfortable with.”

Sansa set the glass aside on the side table, now empty, and she moved closer to him, nearly crawling into his lap and forcing him to put an arm around her so she wouldn’t fall out of the bed.

“Tell me.”

She breathed, so close now she could see flecks of gold in his green eyes, the morning sunshine making everything about him more beautiful, from the silver of his temples to the way his cheekbones might have been carved of marble.

She was so lucky to have found him.

“There are many equally wonderful ways to derive the same reaction that you witnessed last night. Using ones hand is just one of them.”

Sansa blinked up at him, eagerly awaiting instructions, or enlightenment, but Petyr merely sighed, and shook his head.

“Unfortunately, now is not the time for that. You must get dressed, for we are already late for work.”

He got up carefully, extracting himself from her, and the look he gave her was almost certainly regretful.

“Another time, I promise.”


	8. Chapter 8

The days that Sansa spent in Petyr’s company began to outnumber the dresses he possessed for her to change into, so that she never wore the same one twice, and the number of ravens that passed between him and Kings Landing also seemed to increase.

The Starks it seemed, had begun a search for their eldest daughter, nearly the same time as they’d suffered the tragedy of losing their youngest son Bran. He’d fallen ten stories from a high window it seemed, and died from loss of blood. That one Petyr kept to himself, unable to find a proper way to tell Sansa without it breaking her heart, or distracting her from her work.

When Petyr could put it off no longer, he made a trip to Kings Landing, to the palace itself, during an extended lunch break, where he told Ros in no uncertain terms, to keep an eye on ‘Alayne.’

He held council with the Queen, and was informed that his services would be required for an upcoming banquet, celebrating Jamie’s birthday, and hers, and she wanted to gift him a whore, at least for the night.

Petyr was outwardly pleased of course, that his business was being recognized, but somewhat worried about having to send any of his girls into the palace, unsure if they’d return in the same condition they went it.

Jamie was rumored to be an amorous lover, but a rough one as well.

Unfortunately the news got worse, Eddard and Catelyn Stark were to be coming to Kings Landing as well, having mourned their son for long enough, and Petyr had no doubt as soon as she could find a way to leave Ned’s side, Cat would come find him.

Varys told him the only good news he’d had in weeks, the Targaryen girl across the Narrow Sea had helped murder her brother, and was currently mothering three newly hatched dragons, although her Dothraki Army was dwindling in the desert.

Varys assured him he had allies in Qarth who would see that the Targaryen girl was offered shelter.

Petyr wasn’t sure how any of that would possibly turn out well, when Stannis was still a major threat to the Lannisters, but somehow, deep down, he trusted Varys, when he promised that he had no desire for the throne itself, just the hand of whomever sat there.

The only immediate problem would be keeping Sansa from being discovered by her parents, and ensuring she did not run into them.

Truthfully, she no longer had any reason to fear them marrying her off to anyone who could be of any danger to her, now that Joffrey was newly engaged to Margaery Tyrell, just as Varys and Petyr had suspected would occur, and indeed, Margaery’s handsome brother Loras was in need of a wife, as much as a beard.

And yet… Petyr was still reluctant to allow her to leave his side. He’d grown fond of her, and more than for her bewitching body and clever mind, for her soul, which was still quite pure, despite the seeds of corruption he’d been carefully planting.

The last thing he wanted was to send her away, after he’d worked so hard to cultivate and create her into something beyond a pretty face.

So when he’d gotten word Cat was indeed aiming to come see him, he sent Sansa and Ros away for the rest of the afternoon, with the mission to purchase new dresses for ‘Alayne’ and not return until all the money he’d gifted her had been spent.

Any other time, at any given moment in his life, he knew the sound of Cat’s voice would have turned his head, made his heart skip a beat, and indeed, he would have done anything she asked.

“Lord Baelish, I must speak with you.”

Petyr only then looked up from his papers, though he’d known she’d been in his doorway a good minute or so, and nodded towards the chair perched in front of his desk,

“Please, Lady Stark, I’m honored by your presence. Sit down.”

He’d never seen her look so worried, or even, haggard almost, she did not look well at all.

“Petyr, please listen to me. I need your help.”

The painful irony of it all was not lost on him.

He set down the papers and folded his hands in front of his chest,

“How can I be of service?”

Cat glanced around the room, first at the closed door, then back to him,

“Ned is in terrible danger. A letter meant for me, from my sister Lysa was intercepted by the Queen while the royal family was staying with us. It tells of the death of Stannis’ brother, and the news was brought to me in person already, by his former knight Brienne, whom we are granting shelter, but from the wording, it seems to suggest that our family swore we would ally with Stannis only if his brother was no longer alive. It’s not meant to say that at all, but you know how the Queen is, just the tiniest thing makes her paranoid, sets her off. She means to turn Robert against Ned, and I think she will succeed. Unless you can do something.”

Petyr remained perfectly still, frozen almost, contemplating what to say to her, how to tell her politely that he wouldn’t dare lift a finger when the first time she sought him out, in nearly a decade, was to ask for a favor.

“It seems that if the Queen has already made up her mind, it’s up to Ned to convince Robert otherwise. They are close friends, are they not?”

Cat nodded,

“Yes, true they are. We were invited her by his invitation supposedly, but I feel that it was Cersei’s idea, to try and help frame us. Robert and Ned and the boys are out now, on a hunt, and I feel as if every minute that passes before they return could be our last, if Robert isn’t convinced of his loyalty.”

Petyr stroked his chin, somewhat thoughtfully, while his mind was racing, the power balance could change so easily, sometimes it didn’t even take an army to attack and fracture a kingdom.

“I’m not sure what you expect me to be able to do…”

Cat got to her feet, and braced both hands on his desk, leaning over him and invading his space, a move that reeked of desperation,

“You’re Littlefinger, you have the ear of every council member, and their purse strings, there’s got to be something you can do!”

Maintaining his cool was not easy to do, when what he really wanted was to laugh in her face, and tell her that for once, she no longer had any power over him,

“You know, that sort of talk is bordering upon treasonous. I hope you aren’t suggesting what I think you are…”

He left it open ended, and she simply filled in the gaps he’d created.

She sunk back, and hugged herself tightly,

“You don’t possibly think I was suggesting any sort of resistance from the North. We’ve been perfectly happy with what we have.”

Petyr nodded,

“Of course. Then I guess we’re done here.”

He reached over to rap against the wall, and his office door opened, to his shock, revealing a returned Ros, not the usual guard, who smiled,

“Shall I show you out?”

Petyr was on pins and needles for a moment, waiting for some sort of meltdown when Cat spotted Sansa, but once she was gone, Ros peered in and winked at him.

“She’s trying on her new things in my ‘office’ not to worry. I just thought I’d scare her off faster. Highborn ladies always flee before whores.”

Petyr relaxed just slightly, and then smiled,

“Of course. Clever Ros. I knew I hired you for a reason. Now go fetch me a raven, I need to speak with Varys. Then I’ll go check up on Alayne.”

Sending the scroll to update his true spy inside the castle only took a moment, and then he found himself practically skipping to see if indeed, his little gilded and caged bird was having a wonderful time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot thickens....and twists....


	9. Chapter 9

He was correct, as he usually was about her, as she was slipping in and out of various silks and satins, and when he stepped inside the room, he caught her just as she was sliding one down, revealing her corset and under silks.

“Hello sweetling. Did you have fun today?”

Sansa gasped, and nearly fell, before straightening herself, and seemingly sighed in relief when she saw it was just him, not some other man who might have taken a wrong turn and found paradise.

“Yes Petyr. I did, very much. I don’t know how to thank you. I’ve never worn such finery before I came here.”

She clearly meant Kings Landing, for up North, all they wore were varying shades of dark colors hidden by furs.

Petyr smiled gently, and stepped closer, reaching up to place a hand on each bare shoulder, rubbing his thumb slowly upon her skin, fighting the urge to stare too long at her exposed flesh above her corset, nearly all of the swells of her breasts, and just a hint of her nipples.

“You deserve all of it. You’ve never looked more beautiful, and I swear you look more and more like a woman every day.”

She really had been on the cusp of womanhood when she’d come to him. She had grown at least a handful of inches in the couple of months she’d been with him, no longer could he tower over her to intimidate her, not that he needed to, and her dark hair had faded to reddish brown. She would need to have it dyed again soon.

“Thank you.”

She ducked her head, and she was blushing, he could see as the color seeped from her cheeks and spread over her creamy skin down to the paler flesh of her breasts.

“Do you remember when you first came here? How you kneeled before me? Looked to me as if I was the only person in the world whom you could trust?”

Sansa lifted her head to meet his gaze and nodded.

Petyr leaned in to brush a kiss over her lips, stunning her into silence, and he grinned against her mouth,

“Tell me, would you do it again if I asked?”

Sansa had been breathing somewhat irregularly, but now, he heard her breath catch and she gulped,

“What would I do while on my knees?” Her voice was low, hushed as if she was telling a secret, for his ears and only his alone.

He pulled back from her and slowly pressed down on her shoulders, and she sunk down, obediently, eyes wide and watching him as she moved.

“Undo the front of my trousers.”

Sansa was already reaching up to grasp his waist before he gave her a command, but her clever fingers had begun to undo the laces at his groin after only a moment of hesitation.

Now he was the one breathing heavily, as her hands grazed over his growing erection beneath the fabric.

“What should I do next?”

Her voice was a hushed whisper, and he licked his lips, before smiling down at her,

“Touch me, feel me in your palm, get used to how I feel against your skin, then, when you’re ready, lay a kiss on the tip.”

He told himself he wasn’t going to help her with his own hands, it would be far too easy to take control and get himself worked up enough to just spill all over her pretty face.

“Oh my.”

She said, just before making actual physical contact with his cock.

That was enough to make his smile widen. The little thing was impressed and he wasn’t even trying.

Her hands weren’t much smaller than his but they were so much softer, and he groaned aloud at the feel.

She stroked the length of him once, twice, before doing as he’d told her, and leaning in to place a gentle kiss on the head, even sticking out her clever tongue, swiping away the bead of moisture that had gathered at the tip.

“Sansa…”

His brain slipped, and he couldn’t help but call her by her name, her _true_ name, for in that moment, she owned him. She pulled him into her mouth, deeper, and hummed at the sound of her name, sending vibrations through his cock, electrifying his nerves and sending sparks along his most sensitive skin, stoking his pleasure.

 While her hands worked up and down, and her mouth moved, he could feel the hot tight wetness of her throat just out of reach, but beckoning.

He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands in her hair and fuck deep into her mouth.

“Is this good?”

She pulled away from him, letting his cock leave her mouth with an audible pop, and he nodded, unable to find any actual words.

“Suck me harder.”

He finally managed.

The way she was holding him was good, the grip she had on the base of his shaft was just enough to keep him from completely losing his mind and going off too soon, but when she put him back inside her mouth, and did just that, sucked him perfectly well, her lips wrapped around him, keeping her teeth well out of the way, he couldn’t help but touch her.

Silky soft, the formerly red mane still felt incredible beneath his fingers, and he was careful not to tug too hard.

She worked him over until the sounds her mouth was making on his cock were pure wickedness and sin, and then when she let go of his shaft and moved down to touch his sack, with infinite gentleness and likely curiosity, then he could finally thrust some into her, she made a little sound, and he was gone, jerking into her, again, and again, and again.

She blinked back tears, he could see it, and as he caught his breath, she was licking her lips, and wiping the back of her mouth with her free hand.

“Well, that was, different.”

She smiled up at him suddenly, and it was like the sun had come out from behind the clouds.

She’d swallowed every drop down.

Petyr felt his knees weaken, so he let go of her hair and quickly refastened his trousers, before moving to collapse on the nearest chair, and fuck the fabrics that were piled on it.

“Are you all right Petyr?”

Sansa looked somewhat concerned, but she still didn’t get to her feet, she crawled over to him, and placed her cheek on his thigh, staring up at him like some sort of majestic creature who’d come to life merely to drive him insane with desire and lust.

“I’m quite all right sweetling. Just need to catch my breath. You were so good, so very good, I’m very proud of you. Do your knees hurt?”

Sansa looked down at herself, almost as an afterthought,

“Yeah, a little. But it was worth it. I’m glad I could make you feel good.”

The corset was pressing so tightly against her breasts they seemed to be threatening to spill out, and he would gladly drown between them for a night, or many.

That was the only part of her he had yet to touch, beyond the obvious.

He was fighting a never ending battle with himself, trying to preserve her virginity while simultaneously taking whatever she would allow him to have.

So far, the nights when she would come to him, crawl into his bed after a bad dream, or so she said, they would simply kiss until she felt better, or he would touch her until she came and was relaxed enough to sleep.

He’d never wanted to push her beyond what she could do, but she’d been asking more and more questions, about how he pleasured himself, and what exactly that entailed.

Now he would need to confess to her that he could quite easily do the same for her, with his mouth on her, if she wanted.

But he also needed to confess something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a piece of shit i know..  
> this right after meeting with cat.  
> oops.  
> this whole ship is a sinbin/garbagetrain so oh well.  
> but if you liked it then you're just as bad ;)


	10. Chapter 10

Once home, changed and prepared for bed, Petyr was reading in his room, and there was a gentle knocking on his door.

“Come in.”

Sansa crept inside, slowly, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Why did you send me away to shop today?”

Petyr frowned over at her, before patting the bed, the empty side where she usually slept, if and when she did come to him.

“What do you mean? You needed new dresses, for more than fashion.”

He cocked a brow at her, and she flushed slightly.

Since her first moonblood in his home, he’d given her moontea to drink to keep them less frequent, and also for his own gain, should he ever decide he would take her, and she’d allow it, he’d much prefer to be able to be inside her when he found his release.

“Besides that, I mean, lately, you’ve had so many correspondences from Kings Landing, I wondered if you’d heard from my family. Are they still looking?”

Petyr sighed, and set his book aside, realizing it was the time. She’d only pester him more if he lied or danced around it.

“Come here.”

He opened his arms to her, and she moved into his embrace, tucking her head against his chest, feeling his heart beat against her ear.

“What has happened?”

He stroked her back slowly, feeling every ridge and dip of her spine, stopping before he reached the curve of her bottom, and sliding back up again.

“Sansa, your family has become fractured under the stress of things. They held mild loyalty to Stannis Baratheon’s brother, Renly, but since he died, Stannis has gone a bit, well, mad, and wants to overthrow King Robert. Your family insists they still support Robert, but unfortunately the Queen suspects they do not.”

“I never knew what father thought of it all, he never spoke to me of politics.”

She said rather sadly.

Petyr pressed a kiss to the top of her head that he could reach,

“Well, I don’t blame him. It’s not something to worry ladies about, when the wars of men drive apart a country, you’re simply innocent bystanders. But I want you to know, should it ever come to war, I have plans in place, and we will be long gone before any battle reaches the gates of Kings Landing.”

Sansa sat up slightly, and looked right at him, even as his gaze faltered, for her gown gaped quite a lot in the front, and she was indeed naked beneath it, as always, yet somehow, she distracted him more than ever.

“Where would we go?”

Petyr stroked back the stray brown strands bent on escaping her loose bedtime braid.

“To your Aunt Lysa’s home in the Vale first, and if she would not have us, then we will travel north, to my home in the Fingerlands.”

Sansa looked almost in pain, staring out the window the darkened streets beyond the black curtain,

“I hope that it does not ever come to that,” she bit her bottom lip slightly, and then glanced back to his face, “But at least I would be safe with you.”

Petyr nodded,

“Of course you are always safe with me. But are you saying you would not want to return to your family?”

Sansa sighed heavily, before reaching out to play with the strings of his sleep shirt, in effect, distracting him and herself,

“Why should I go back? I am grown beyond what they ever dreamed for me, I have a job, I live with a man, I’m in effect ruined for any sort of man they’d try to marry me off to. Besides, I will never inherit Winterfell, Robb, Rickon, or Bran will beat me to that. I have more in common with Jon than Arya.”

The sadness in her eyes made him want to hold her close, and never let go, but the last thing she’d said was almost like driving a spike through his chest.

He couldn’t possibly tell her about Bran, not right now.

“Well I think any man who could have you, would be blessed by the seven to have your favor.”

He said instead, watching her steadily, determined to prove to her without as many words that he prayed she’d pick him.

Sansa glanced up at him, and her hands stilled,

“You really think so?”

He just nodded, feeling her shift atop him, moving so that she was truly straddling his hips, and her warmth bled into his skin.

“Let me tell you a secret…”

He grinned, rather wickedly,

“I think I already know.”

Sansa licked her lips, and leaned forward to brush her lips over his ear,

“There’s only one man I want.”

His hands tightened on her waist, and he flipped over so that he was looming atop her, and she started giggling.

“Do I want to hear about this fool you are in love with?”

He growled, somewhat playfully, and rubbed his growing erection against the cleft of her hips, ripping a groan from her and wiping away her smile.

“His name is Littlefinger.”

She whispered, just before his hands began to slide underneath her shift, and he nearly ripped it off in his haste to get her naked beneath him.

Suddenly he didn’t care anymore about her being pure, he just wanted to show her how much he cared for _her_.

“Please, tell me more about this fellow.”

He began to kiss down the column of her neck, between the valley of her breasts, and just past her navel, and she babbled on about how he was so handsome, with hair like ash and coal, yet beautiful.

He nipped his teeth against the soft flesh between her hip and thigh, and she jumped beneath his hands.

“Petyr…what are you doing?”

She was trying to sit up, trying to look, and he pressed down firmly, one hand on her chest, between her breasts,

“I’m going to return the favor for you.”

It had been nearly a week since he’d really touched her, done more than tease her with a finger halfway inside her and kissed her til she nearly fainted.

He told her he was building up her resistance to pleasure, to help extend it for when she really needed to climax.

Now was that time.

As he went to work on her, using his free hand to part her lips, and kiss her like she’d never been kissed in her life between her thighs, the sounds she made were like music of the angels to his ears.

She was almost stronger than him, and nearly bucked him off a few times, but for his insistent hand upon her chest, and he even tweaked one of her nipples to get her attention and warn her he was prepared to spank her if she kept it up.

He’d only threatened her with that once before, and he got the sense she’d actually been hit back home, and for him to suggest it as something entirely outside of pure power play was bizarre. He was determined to change her viewpoint on it, but not tonight.

He could feel her inner walls beginning to flutter around his finger and tongue, and she was dripping wet, more so than he could almost keep up with.

Just the tiniest nip on her bud, and she was screaming, and clawing at the sheets, moving her hips against his face, and he could laugh in triumph.

He kissed right back up her body on the way to her mouth, not sure how she would react to tasting herself on his tongue, but she was so purely blissed out and relaxed, she didn’t even say a word beyond,

“Petyr…you are the only one I could ever see myself with.”

Twelve little words that were nearly his undoing.

He stroked her face, and as her blue eyes fluttered open and shut in exhaustion, he kissed her forehead,

“Sleep well, my love.”

The endearment slipped out, and she might not remember in the morning anyway, but there it was.

He had admitted it.

She wasn’t just some chess piece in his ever evolving game; she had become a permanent fixture in the board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle in, the rides about to get bumpy.


	11. Chapter 11

Sansa had never truly known panic until news of the death of King Robert reached her while she was at the market, and then mingled with that news was word that her family was a traitor to the crown, and Queen Cersei was having them executed.

She’d never run so fast in her life, sprinting back to the brothel, to Petyr’s office.

She threw open the door, and nearly stumbled inside, finding the balding man she knew as Varys and Petyr deep in conversation.

Petyr had never truly been angry with her, but his green eyes flared and flashed like the green fire from her long ago nightmare of the dragon attacking Kings Landing, and though she begged his apologies, he basically yelled at her to get out.

So she did.

She never stopped running until she got to the square, and she could cling to a sandy wall, in full view of the erected stands where her mother and father were being read their last rites.

In the bright sunlight, she spotted Joffrey, golden haired and crowned, with a woman she didn’t know on his arm, and further along, she saw Robb and Jon, fighting against the guards holding them back.

Arya, Bran and Rickon were nowhere to be seen, and she wasn’t sure if that worried her or made her feel a bit less like throwing up her lunch.

It was about five seconds before the swords were being lifted up and Queen Cersei’s smile seemed to be carved from ice, when something slammed into Sansa’s left side, throwing her against the wall, facing away from the impending carnage.

It was Petyr!

“We need to leave, right now.”

“But my family!”

Sansa was sobbing, she couldn’t help it.

There had been little else in the world she ever imagined would break her, but this had done it. She thought she could live in her little world with Petyr, pretending to be apart and over her family, their love, their bond, but she was not.

In that moment, she was exactly what she should be, a scared little girl afraid for her family, and her life, as well as theirs.

 

Petyr was grasping her arms tightly, and shaking her hard,

“We _must_ go. You cannot stay here, you will be spotted by the wrong people. Varys has gotten us passage on a ship leaving at dusk. We must go home and pack. Come, now.”

The sternness in his voice left no room for argument, and when Sansa turned back to catch a final desperate glimpse of her family, the crowd had gathered so densely she couldn’t make anything out but the gleam of a sword.

 

Everything she did for the next few hours was through a veil of tears, and even Petyr’s voice, calm and reassuring, or apologetic and begging, was not enough to distract her fully.

Even when they were on the boat, sailing for the Vale, to see her only remaining family, Petyr was no help.

She finally tossed aside the blanket he’d brought her, as if that would help her rest any easier and she screamed at him.

“WHY didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you lie?”

 _‘How can I ever trust you again?’_ was what she really wanted to ask.

Petyr lifted his hands, rising slowly to his feet, as if attempting to placate an angry animal, a caged and furious beast. That was what Sansa felt like. No longer a gilded and caged pretty bird to be admired and adored.

She was a Stark after all, perhaps the Last of her Name, she could be as fierce as any Wolf in her anger.

“I wasn’t sure what to tell you, I wasn’t sure, how, but things had been going badly, in all the wrong directions for a few days, and it would have been impossible to stop the turning of the wheel at that point. The moment King Robert died, I ceased to have any ability to protect your family.” Petyr said finally.

She knew, somehow, deep down, that he was telling her the truth as he knew it, but it wasn’t all of it, and it wasn’t nearly enough, nor would it ever explain why she had to lose her entire family in one day.

“I don’t care what you have to say. I’m done listening.”

She knew it was childish, but she folded her arms to her chest, and turned away from him, squeezing her eyes shut for good measure.

She would cry more, harder, later, but not while he was around, not while he could see.

“Sansa…please don’t do this. You have to believe me. I did everything I could to keep _you_ safe. You were, and are, my only priority.”

His words were blending into her mind, the fog of despair clouding any more logical thought, and so she collapsed into a ball on the floor of the ship, unwilling to listen, unwilling to relent.

When his footsteps finally faded away, and she was left alone, her entire body wracked with sobs, and she cried and wept until she could not anymore.

Gone.

_Gone._

They were all gone.

And she was alone.

Alone with the monster of a man whom she’d fled to.

Fled to, to escape yet another monster.

Why were all men like that?

Whose monster of a mother had been the one to kill her family.

There truly was no justice in the world.

*

Petyr wasn’t worried so much as he was concerned.

For her.

For himself.

When he arrived at the Eyrie , there would be little option then what Varys had suggested. Stay there, and wait it out until the battle for Kings Landing ended, and a clear victor emerged.

The attack from Stannis was only hours away, and Petyr could only hope Varys himself managed to survive it.

Petyr would be forced to propose to Lysa, to gain her favor and trust, but it would mean losing Sansa. She already hated him, so what was one more betrayal?

Nothing really, in the scheme of things.

The scale and scope of the upcoming days and weeks and months were going to be quite important, and Sansa was now the golden, or rather, crimson key to the north, to Winterfell.

She would need to be married to a decent Lord to ensure loyalty in the coming months. For though Eddard Stark was wrong about a great many things, winter was indeed coming.

With it, would be the certain doom of many small houses who did not declare for either Stannis or the Lannisters.

House Tyrell had been lucky enough to get their foot in the door, and to say nothing of the ever impending threat of the girl with her trio of baby dragons.

Yes, Petyr and Sansa would have a great many things to be concerned over, and he could only pray she’d forgive him someday for what he’d had to do, and still had yet to do.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka the alternate look at their 'not first' kiss

The snowfall had reached even the Eyrie , and Petyr was not surprised at all to see Sansa out and about, building what looked like a castle of the pure white variety, but what surely had to be Winterfell, at least in her imagination.

So many months had passed now, her hair was all red again, and there could be no denying whose child she was. He had given up on passing her off as his niece when introducing her to Lysa, and indeed, the woman had been of a single mind, positively certain Robin would grow to love her, and make her his future queen.

He had a sense that Sansa would be no one’s queen but if she willed it, but surprisingly, she was outwardly amicable and accepting of the idea.

He watched her now, interacting with the boy, the formerly sickly child, now grown into a rather annoying brat, and when he’d hardly looked away for a moment, he turned back to see Sansa smacking the child, before he turned tail and ran.

Sansa was left standing in the snow, beside the ruined recreation of her home, staring at her gloved palm in shock.

“Children…”

Petyr said quietly, trying to come off as the gently critical parental figure, but failing immensely.

He walked over to her slowly, descending the steps at a pace that would allow him to pause should she scream at him to stay away, but instead of aiming her anger at him, he saw her shoulders fall, and she shook her head,

“I hit him.”

Petyr chuckled softly, growing ever closer,

“Yes, I saw.”

Surely she was wondering how long he’d been watching the two of them, and yet, she let it slide, and simply said,

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Petyr continued to advance closer to her, seeing she was not about to ask him to halt,

“Perhaps not, but if not now, when? The boy was more than asking for a slap. His mother never gave him one, and that was her mistake.”

Sansa eyed him cautiously, turning to face him, and he felt his heart clench in his chest, aching for her to come back to him, to forgive him. It had been so long since he’d touched her, even a simple embrace, and no matter how enthusiastic Lysa was in their marriage bed, nothing could ever wipe the tender and sweet, if forbidden moments he’d shared with Sansa back in Kings Landing from his memory.

“What if he tells Aunt Lysa?”

Petyr saw the worry in her eyes, and it was the last thing he wanted her to be feeling. Concern for something that was almost the step in the right direction for the boy.

“Let me worry about her.”

Sansa still seemed wary,

“What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you _be_ taking care of her?”

Petyr sighed, and plucked off his gloves, one by one, briskly rubbing his hands together, and looking about them, at the gently falling snow.

“It was too beautiful a moment to miss. So I left the paperwork and accounts alone for the night.”

Sansa was still watching him, not prepared to let him take any steps she didn’t want him to, but he noticed how she was not retreating, and he pressed forward, gaining on her.

“I know it was foolish, playing in the snow…but I was trying to remember what Winterfell looked like…I know, I’ll never see it again. But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help myself.”

Sansa sighed, and kicked weakly at the last standing tower in the snow. At that, Petyr felt his heart ache for her, but for more than that, he wanted to return to being her bastion of strength, her true protector, like he started out to be.

She continued, before he could speak,

“Lord Baelish, what is to become of me here? Am I simply waiting for Robin to grow up?”

Petyr chuckled low, and shook his head,

“Never say never. A lot can happen between now, and never… But as for you, not at all. There are a dozen lords who would have your hand in the meantime. If you just say the word, I can send a raven at dawn.”

That was not what she wanted, he could see it on her face, though she didn’t yet recoil at his nearness, she did flinch at the idea of being married off to a stranger.

He was now within less than two strides away from her, and she still had not held up her hand to stop him.

“I do _want_ to go home. I want the North back.”

Petyr cocked a brow at her, and closed the final distance, extending his hand, bare, to touch her, what he could, which was a stray lock of her loose out-grown scarlet hair, dusted in white.

“I would give you that, if it was in my power. Unfortunately it is under the control of the Boltons. They are a fierce family clan, and would not easily give up what they have won.”

Sansa was breathing a bit heavier, for he saw the clouds of her breath before his eyes, and when he inhaled her scent, it was of lemons.

“What would you do if I asked you for it, and I would promise to give you whatever you desired in return?”

His gaze dropped to her lips, just for a moment, before rising to her eyes, again, and he found himself drowning in the icy blue depths.

His fingers rubbed the strand of hair gently, and he smiled half a smirk,

“I would have to think about it. For there is not much that I desire that you could grant, in this current state between us.”

He chanced it, and lifted his hand the rest of the way, to brush over her cheek, and cupped her jaw, and when her eyes fluttered shut, he leaned in, and kissed her.

Her lips were cold, but her tongue was warm, and she tasted like coming home felt.

He suspected they were being watched, but he could not confirm it, nor did he care in the moment.

Sansa had extended the olive branch, and he would do everything in his power to accept it.


	13. Chapter 13

Lysa was dead, and Robin was distraught, but assured that his adopted Father would not be gone for long. Just a trip north to ensure the Stark home was safe.

The poor child had no idea he’d likely never see either of them again.

Petyr had wrapped her in his cloak and furs, and even suggested they could dye her hair to prevent the Boltons from guessing who she was right away.

“There’s no point. They have likely already heard the news, since I ran from my home, lived in Kings Landing, and then fled the battle. It’s probably old news.”

Petyr sighed.

“I do not like this idea. I would sooner entrust Roose Bolton with a sack of pure silver coin than I would him with you.”

Sansa frowned, and looked over at him,

“What are you saying?”

Petyr licked his lips,

“I’m saying that I’ve changed my mind. We’re not going to Winterfell, directly. First, we’re going to my home, to the Fingerlands, and I’m going to send a raven to Varys, across the Narrow Sea. I want to know what progress the Dragon queen has made.”

Sansa huddled closer to him, not just for warmth, but with silent gratitude. She knew the diversion didn’t mean she would never return home, she trusted that he would get her there the safest way he could.

Arriving at his home was a little less climactic than she’d imagined, for the place was not magnificent and large like Kings Landing, or imposing and tall like the Eyrie, but was still an impressive fortress of a home.

It overlooked the sea, from a craggy mountain top, and was probably cold without any fires lit, but somehow, had a strange beauty to it.

Sansa wagered, it was a lot like Petyr himself.

Harsh and dangerous at first, until one got to know the ins and outs of the man.

Although she hadn’t _known_ him truly in a long time, she looked forward to letting him earn her trust again.

Saving her life from her mad aunt had been a pittance, a drop in the bucket he had yet to make up, but it was a start.

With the carriages parked and the horses stabled, Petyr began directing his men to their places and he finally guided her inside the castle walls. His palm was at the center of her back, and though she could not possibly feel it through the many layers of clothing she wore, she almost thought she could sense it.

Winding staircases led up to a dark but solidly built home, filled with a mixture of furs and fireplaces to keep one warm, and roughly hewn furniture that seemed to be carved from wood that might have been washed ashore by the sea.

The place smelled of salt and mint, rather than fish, like Sansa had been expecting, and she decided someday she would ask where the mint was growing, and how Petyr consumed it to always smell of it.

“That will be your room, up there.”

Petyr nodded towards a long hallway, and a smaller door, that opened to a private staircase.

“Where will you be?”

Sansa found herself asking, somewhat nervously. She didn’t mind the idea of having such a secluded room, but he was the only person she knew there now, and she was reluctant to admit it, but he did make her feel safe like no one else could.

“I’m over there, in the opposite wing, overlooking the sea. You’ll be facing the sun, so it’ll be very warm and bright on your side. No need to worry.”

He smiled at her, and looked as if he wanted to reach for her, but she was a couple steps too far away.

“If you need anything, just come get me.”

Sansa heard the echo, from that first night, and it seemed to radiate through her mind, while she was changing for bed, even long after she’d climbed beneath the furs and had been lying down, staring at the rocky ceiling, praying for sleep that she knew wouldn’t come.

Not until she spoke to him.

First she wrapped herself warmly in furs, and then she slipped her boots back on, she began to descend the staircase to find her way to Petyr’s room.

Perhaps great minds thought alike, for she’d barely entered the hallway when she saw an approaching figure.

Moonlight spilled into the hall from the skylights, and they were quickly revealed to be none other than Petyr himself.

“Sansa.”

“Petyr.”

“Is everything all right? Are you warm enough?”

Petyr looked truly concerned, and Sansa managed a smile,

“Yes, I am quite comfortable, thank you. I was coming to speak with you.”

Petyr looked somewhat surprised, but nodded,

“All right. Would you like to come with me back to my room, or should I come to yours?”

The entire thing was rather ridiculous but the hallways were not well heated like the bedrooms, so Sansa gave a kind of shrug, which wasn’t easily visible under the furs, before simply saying,

“Let’s do yours.”

Petyr chuckled,

“It is a bit larger I’m sure.”

He winced right after, so she knew he hadn’t intended to sound crude, and she let him lead her back to his own staircase, and up to his room.

“This is quite beautiful Petyr.”

She almost dropped her furs in her hurry to rush to his window. For while she would have the sun in the day time, he had the best view of the moon in the night.

She stared at the glowing silver orb in the sky for a good few moments before realizing Petyr hadn’t spoken in all that time, and she turned to look at him, only to find him staring right back at her, with something inscrutable written upon his face.

Sadness, despair, longing, and something like desperation all came together in one.

“Sansa…”

His voice was a husky rasp, and she wondered if he really was quite all right. Or if he was becoming ill.

“Yes?”

She nearly forgot the entire purpose of her visit was to talk to him about something of deep importance, but for some reason, it had completely fled out of her head.

“You have no reason to forgive me, truly ever, but if there was one thing I wanted more than any throne in this world, it would be that. For you to say those words again…and mean them.”

 Instead of chilling her blood like ice, his words made her want to melt, and run to fall in his arms. She knew exactly what he was talking about. She’d been young, and foolish when she’d confessed what she thought was love for him. Twelve words that held meaning she’d not known a thing truly about.

Though it had only been a year past, so much had changed, and many things were entirely different.

She had told herself she never could love, not when she would need to be married to someone she didn’t even know, to simply preserve her name and her familial line.

She hadn’t even noticed it, but he’d moved closer, and in the faint moonlight, his eyes seemed to gleam and glow, with what she imagined to be truth.

“Please, say something, anything. Tell me you hate me; tell me you never want me to touch you again. Just…”

He reached her side, and collapsed to his knees before her, throwing his arms around her waist, and pressing his cheek to her stomach, covered in layers of furs.

“Oh Petyr…no, never.”

She reached up to stroke her fingers through his hair, and she sighed slowly.

“I don’t hate you. I couldn’t hate you. You’ve done so much for me. But you did hurt me, very deeply, and for a while, I thought I would never recover, but I have.”

He looked up at her, almost as if unsure to believe quite what she was saying, so she smiled, gently,

“I want very much to have what we did before. I ask only one thing.”

Petyr nodded,

“Whatever you want. Just name it.”

Sansa licked her lips, and stroked his cheek,

“You can never hide things from me that will affect my life. I need to know things, some things. Not every aspect of your grand plan, but what concerns me.”

He blinked, once, twice, and then nodded.

“Of course, my love. Anything you ask.”

Sansa let her knees give out, from standing with them locked to keep from embracing him as tightly back as she wanted had begun to hurt, and he brought her down with him carefully, letting her fall back in the pile of furs below the window.

He was over her, but not looming dangerously, she felt almost secure, and safe, once again.

Maybe in his arms was where she really belonged.

“Hold me. Kiss me. Make me feel that love.” She finally said, after a few moments of him simply drinking her in, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was really there, with him, in his home, and under his hands.

“Gladly.”

Petyr answered.

That was all the words they exchanged before their lips crashed together.

The rest of the night was left to hands and fingers and lips and limbs and if Sansa felt like screaming, Petyr stifled it with a hand.

No need to wake the guards for something as simple as the first orgasm she’d experienced in a half dozen months.

When the furs began to feel hot and heavy and even the fire should have gone out, for it seemed to be blazing inside Sansa’s very soul, only then did Petyr stop touching her, and she caught her breath, lying beside him, and staring up at the moon.

He still was looking at only her, she could sense it.

She smiled and her eyes closed.

She slept, and didn’t dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #whatshouldhavehappenedimjustsaying


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next to the last chapter my loves.

Petyr was determined to stay in her good graces, and indeed, before he could even begin procuring a hot bath for her to wake up to, he’d received a raven from Varys, indicating he had made landfall, with the hoards and ships and even the dragons flanking the fleet of the queen from across the Narrow Sea.

But surely, that could wait?

The steaming mint scented water would be more appealing than the news that the Lannisters had fallen…but only just.

Petyr returned to the other room, where Sansa lay sprawled upon his bed, spread upon the furs, creamy skin for miles and a red splash of color where her head was perched upon a pillow.

She looked as beautiful as a goddess, and he actually felt a swelling of pride as he noted all the small marks and purple swells on her, from where he’d bit and squeezed tighter on command.

“Good morning sweetling.”

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, and she writhed around upon the smooth surface, before frowning slightly,

“Petyr?”

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, like the crashing of two blue waves upon the shore, and Petyr smiled.

“Hello. I’ve drawn a bath for you. Shall I carry you?”

 Sansa hummed slightly, and nodded.

Petyr reached down to scoop her into his arms, and she obediently wrapped her arms around his neck, but otherwise remained relaxed in his hold.

“Here we are.”

He carefully set her feet first into the tub, and the warmth of the water just barely was enough to catch her attention, and certainly might sting on the harsher welts on her skin.

“Ohhhh.”

She groaned, and the sound went straight to his groin. Somehow, after nearly half the night of making love to her, she managed to still arouse him with just a small sound.

He decided at once he would join her in the tub, for it was quite large enough for even three people.

“Don’t fall asleep on me in here.”

He chided, and slid into the water, jostling her enough to wake her up fully.

“Okay you’ve done it. I’m up.”

She still moved towards him, snuggling her naked and now wet and slippery form against his body.

“This is hardly the place for that.”

He tried to fight her off, only halfheartedly, but he was quite frankly flattered that she was eager for him still and even again.

“Kiss me good morning Petyr.”

Well if his future queen demanded it, he’d grant it.

Petyr smiled, and drew her closer, noting how the swirls of her wet hair looked like wet flames, a complete impossibility,

“As you wish.”

He kissed her long and slow, deepening it when she first brushed her tongue against his lips, and before he knew it, she was climbing into his lap and making a small tidal wave inside the tub.

He decided the raven could wait, and he slipped a hand down beneath the water to feel for her nub between her legs, reveling in the gasp that fell from her lips as he pressed against it, first gently and in slow circles, then more and more rapidly and firmly enough to make her start to grind against his hand, moaning his name.

Just before he could sense that she was about to come, he dropped his hand and moved to grasp her hips, pulling her down onto his fully hardened cock, and she gritted her teeth, before leaning in to bite his shoulder.

“Mmm yes, you like that do you my love?”

Sansa merely hummed against his skin and he pressed further, before starting to thrust in and out of her slowly.

“Ugh…Petyr…you’re trying to kill me.”

Petyr leaned over and nibbled on her earlobe for a moment, as if considering, before chuckling,

“But what a way to go, isn’t that right?”

Sansa pressed right back when he thrust up again suddenly and drove a gasp from his throat,

“Yessss.”

He dropped one hand from her hips to feel for the place where their bodies met, and he leaned in to kiss her again, while pressing upon that veritable button, and she clenched around him at once, shuddering through her orgasm, and drawing him right along with her.

His arms wrapped around her waist and he clutched her to him tightly, thrusting until he didn’t have the strength any more.

She hummed against his chest, and her fingers drew mindless shapes over his skin.

The water had cooled significantly, but neither wanted to move.

“If we were in my bathroom we could watch the sunrise.”

Sansa finally mumbled, breaking the silence.

Petyr chuckled lightly.

“You’re so right. Next time I’ll carry you an extra three dozen steps for that.”

He pressed a kiss to her damp forehead, and she smiled against his skin.

“I guess I can forgive you for your eagerness.”

Petyr sighed,

“Bless you for that sweetling.”

Sansa giggled, and then Petyr was laughing again too, until they both grew too cold to remain in the water any longer and once dried off, Petyr actually initiated the next bout of love making, breakfast far from either of their minds.

*

Though Petyr did not mean to forget, the morning and evening slipped by before he knew it, lost in the blissful peace of mind that was having Sansa back to him, truly, and the raven’s that brought messages back and forth began to change and indeed, seemed to multiply.

First Varys sent word that although Daenerys Targaryen and her army, along with him, had invaded into Kings Landing, they found nothing remaining, but a smoldering wreckage, and surely the bodies of the Lannisters who’d chosen to die rather than be defeated. Wildfire was the way they had chosen to go.

Petyr wondered if Sansa would be amused or horrified at her somewhat prophetic dream…he decided to leave that bit out.

Another raven arrived a couple days later, this time from Bear Island.

It seemed that Sansa was not in fact alone in this world of her name, and her clever younger sister had stolen away in the night, escaped Kings Landing and fled to Bear Island, in the strange company of a bastard named Gendry Waters.

Curious still, he claimed his father to be the deceased Robert Baratheon.

Petyr had not yet confirmed that claim with Varys, but he suspected it was of a high possibility, knowing the dead king’s fondness for brothels, including his own former place of business.

Lyanna Mormont, the youngest commander the islands had ever seen, had somehow agreed to ally with Arya, and even granted Gendry a place in her army. Together, they had ventured North, and taken back Winterfell, rested from the Boltons, fighting atop the remains of Stannis’ frozen army.

Winterfell belonged to the Stark’s once again.

Petyr knew that one piece of news would be one of the only thing’s Sansa would care to know amidst the numerous raven’s passing back and forth.

The only wild cards left to his knowledge were the Princesses of Dorne, and the aging king who would likely be replaced or removed soon enough.

He sent word to Varys to warn the dragon queen that they might be a thorn in her side, as it were, but received the equivalent of Varys’ eyes rolling at his foolish assumption, for it seemed, nothing could truly worry the future queen of Westeros.

Another flurry of ravens across the span of a day later, and Petyr was assured by the Queen’s own right hand, Tyrion Lannister, of all people, that the North, and indeed, Winterfell, would be remaining in the possession of its true owners.

All that the Queen requested in return was an unnamed future meeting, between the Stark family and herself, in the newly rebuilt Kings Landing.

That, Petyr was certain, would be something Sansa would agree to.

The final nail in the coffin, that was the fact she could not remain with him in his home any longer, was the white raven from Winterfell, bearing the sigil of the Stark Direwolf, and Arya’s name.

She did not know her sister still lived, but Lyanna and Arya both demanded a prompt reply from him.

He gripped the scroll tightly in his palm, and made his way to the dining hall, where he knew Sansa would be, reading through the rest of the scrolls.

He’d finally told her a few days previous, and been blessed by her patience and quiet scolding only, she did not banish him from her bedside, and did not spur his affections.

He prayed she never would again.

But now he had another thing to worry upon, if her sister would think him worthy of Sansa’s hand, for he wanted nothing more than to wed her, and help her become Lady of Winterfell, as she rightly deserved.

“My love, you have had a white raven, and the words are from Lady Mormont of Bear Island, and it appears your sister, Arya, still lives.”

Sansa’s eyes were as wide as saucers, and she leapt to her feet, nearly flattening him in her haste to pluck the scroll from his hand.

“Let me see that!”

Petyr chuckled softly, and stepped back from her just a hairsbreadth, keeping his palm still on her lower back, feeling how her heartbeat fluttered wildly like a frightened bird.

Tears filled her eyes, and spilled over onto her cheeks unchecked, and she looked over at him with something like unbelieving joy,

“This is an impossible miracle. She says that she ran from Kings Landing the night before the King died…but she never meant to stay away…until she had to. She’s been with this boy, well, man now, Gendry…and she says she’s in love with him. How much she has changed in the past year…”

Sansa looked back to the scroll and continued reading, and Petyr simply stayed put, prepared to comfort and answer any query’s she might have.

Only one, it seemed.

“When can we leave for Winterfell?”

Petyr sighed, and reached out to take one of her hands from the scroll, and he placed a soft kiss on the back of it,

“Sweetling, you can leave tomorrow if you’d like. It will be a short journey with the little possessions you have.”

Sansa brightened for a moment, and then dropped the scroll to fling herself into his arms.

It took him unawares only for a moment, and then he was fully embracing her back, his arms wrapped around the span of her waist, clinging to her tightly as he dared, until she began to pull back.

“You’re going to come with me aren’t you?”

She suddenly looked upon the very edge of despair, and it struck him somewhere very deep, and very dark, that perhaps she truly _didn’t_ want to go alone, didn’t want to simply abandon him and never look back.

Petyr lifted his hand, only high enough to stroke along the exposed line of her collarbone, causing her to shiver slightly,

“Of course, if you feel you need me there.”

Sansa inhaled sharply,

“I do. I want you…to come with me.”

Her voice seemed to break on the first three words, and then she finished the sentence in a hushed whisper.

Petyr glanced up again, almost afraid to see how she would be looking at him now.

He was attempting to distance himself from her already, and he was failing miserably. There was little else he wanted in the Seven Kingdoms than to never leave her side.

She truly owned him, though she did not know it…or perhaps she did.

“If that is what you wish. I will take you home, Lady Stark.”

He’d never uttered her last name before, and it tasted sharp, and cold, just like the Northern winters.

Sansa bit her lip, and nodded.

“Good. Forgive me, but I’m tired of reading, will you take me to bed?”

Now her eyes were big and soft, and she looked at him as if he was to be devoured, and Petyr knew that she did have him.

She and he were of one mind many a time, and that was just one sort of moment.

“It would be my pleasure.”

She wrapped her arms carefully around his neck, and he knelt to pick her up into his own arms, carrying her off to his room, for that night, it was his turn to host her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter! i hope you guys have enjoyed this story much as i have enjoyed writing it! my next project is unknown but i'm working on something for these 2 i'm hoping to turn original. so it may not come on here. i will continue to add to the PetyrxSansa AU collection, never fear.  
> xoxo

The journey North was not a long one, as Petyr had predicted, and it was only a couple nights later, after arriving, being welcomed with a feast, that Sansa found herself stepping outside, away from the loud noises of celebrating and people stuffing themselves with food and wine, to where the night air was cold, calm, and comforting.

Winterfell was her home, and she had not seen it in nearly two years.

It was hard to believe sometimes it had been that long, but the ache in her body, her heart, and her very bones was one that was finally beginning to lessen, standing beneath the tree that was now a shocking red amidst the white snow.

Seeing Arya and meeting Lyanna had been the highlight of her evening, but when the entire room had been focused on her and her sister, that was when things had begun to spin, and the world had become too loud, too bright, and too overwhelming.

The food had been incredible, and she’d barely had two sips of wine, afraid to chance any more than that, lest she say something foolish, or confess how she’d run from home over the silliest mistake of her entire life.

Outside, among the silent forest and the dark stones that made up the castle, Sansa wondered if, deep down, the entire thing had been her fault.

She didn’t want to break down, she didn’t want to cry, not on what should have been the happiest night of her life, so she didn’t.

She pressed her eyes shut tight, and leaned back against the trunk of the large tree, hoping that the Seven, new or old gods, would answer her plea.

Peace.

It was hard won, and fought and paid for with the blood of many, but truthfully, she knew, that Westeros had possibly just entered the most peaceful time it had seen in centuries.

The scrolls she’d skimmed through in the past few days, before departing the Fingerlands had been very informative.

The idea that the Queen with three live and full grown dragons, who’d sailed across the Narrow Sea with a massive army, wanted to meet with her and her sister was quite daunting, but also somewhat flattering?

From what she knew, this queen was almost the same age as her, surely she would be a worthwhile acquaintance and not a tyrant?

Her people called her ‘mother’ and her true title, after Queen of Myreen, was quite a long one.

 

“Forgive me, my Lady, if you are praying.”

Sansa’s eyes snapped open and she sat up at once, alert and aware, but it was just Petyr.

How he’d managed to sneak up on her here, she didn’t know. Then she realized what he’d said.

“Please…don’t start calling me that. I’m not formally the ruler of Winterfell yet.” She tried to laugh, but it came out more of a breathy gasp.

The idea was daunting.

She knew Arya wouldn’t want it, even if she had changed so much that she was prepared to marry a man with no title and no land to his name.

“Maybe not, but you are where you belong, and the title befits you as a Stark of Winterfell.”

Sansa watched as Petyr drew closer to her, but not quite, he remained outside of the span of the red branches, as if she was inside some sort of sanctuary.

“I wasn’t praying, really. I was just thinking,”

Petyr cocked a brow,

“About?”

He looked almost concerned.

Sansa tried to smile,

“Oh just…many things.”

Petyr nodded, as if aware of what she couldn’t say, or wasn’t really able to form words for,

“I understand. Your entire future is now sitting before you, waiting to be walked into, to be accepted. You will finally become the woman your family always dreamed you’d be. You can think of the time you spent with me, as a sort of distraction, a side road that was traveled by accident. Now you’re set back on the right path, and you will flourish in it, I know. I can only imagine how the Queen will adore you. She may even ask you to join her council, and then you’ll have to put your skills to good use.”

He smiled wryly, and she knew he meant the skills he’d taught her, with figures and calculations, but she also heard the abject sadness in his voice, like he was leaving for the gallows.

“I don’t think I agree, Lord Baelish.”

He paused, halfway through turning away from her, perhaps preparing to return to the castle, or maybe the stables, and steal away in the night.

“No?”

Sansa extracted herself from the cold ground, which had begun to seep through her thick furs, chilling even her northern hardened body.

Petyr was still standing, watching her with something like caution in his eyes, the green of which had become almost blue, surrounded by so much pure white and grey and brown of the forest.

She halted only a step away from his side, and the distance between them was yawning, like a canyon that merely needed a strong bridge to be crossed.

“No. I would not trade back the time I spent with you, for all the riches in the seven kingdoms. I am grateful, forever, that the seven smiled upon me, and let me live, let me find you, and that you let me stay.”

Petyr was smirking slightly, and even that gave her cause to blush.

Certainly, his reasons for letting her remain with him had been selfish at first, but she was not a child any longer, nor foolish enough to think that had not changed.

He had betrayed her trust once, but then spent nearly every moment after trying to win it back, and he’d succeeded.

“Why do you put so much faith in the gods? You have every reason not to. They took almost your entire family from you. They have never protected you from pain or loss.” His voice was not mocking, not of her at least, and she suddenly realized why she’d never seen him pray. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in the gods, though maybe he didn’t, but he truly was the sort of man who preferred to make his own fate, his own fortune, and he had indeed paved his own way.

Sansa suddenly had a feeling that he wasn’t truly speaking of just her, and she wondered, as she always had, what her mother had really done to hurt him so much.

She’d never dared ask him, yet now she could think of nothing more that she wanted to know.

But it was for another time.

She could still see that he was trying to slip away, and she could not let him.

“Perhaps they haven’t, but you always have. You’re my protector, my guardian, my strength. I love you Petyr. Please, don’t leave me when I’ve finally gotten my home back.”

Petyr paused, and then turned to face her completely, another smile twisting up one side of his mouth,

“What are you saying?”

Sansa felt her cheeks flush, despite the true chill of the night air, for the sun had truly set.

“I want to remain in your charge…permanently.”

Petyr licked his lips suddenly, and Sansa’s eyes instantly dropped to follow the movement.

The snow, the calmness, the scenery was heart-stoppingly familiar.

He was leaning in the moment after Sansa dared blink, and his hands were then lifting to cup her face, his bewitching green eyes locked on her mouth,

“I guess you’ll have to marry me then.”

She was smiling as his lips met hers, and she nodded against him, before wrapping her arms around him and pulling him to her as tightly as she could.

*

 

Sansa was flush with heat from so many things, the wine, the chatter, Arya’s elusive smile finally emerging having to have walked her sister down the aisle in lieu of a father, and indeed, that should have been enough to make them both cry, yet, it wasn’t, and from the mere idea that she was walking into a bedroom with her now husband, Petyr Baelish.

The idea of imagining herself as ‘Mrs Baelish’ was quite preposterous and she told everyone and anyone who’d tried it to please only call her ‘Lady Stark’ for the time being.

Petyr’s ever present form was at her side, closing the bedroom door firmly behind them, to prevent any sort of spies or intrusions from anyone who’d had too much to drink, and when she dared glance at him, she saw he was smiling, warmly, not with the mask of a smirk he usually wore.

“What?”

She couldn’t help asking.

He bewitched and confused her often, and currently, his expression was giving off an aura of something approaching the same level of giddiness and anxiety she was feeling.

“You look radiate my love.”

It had been a long day of ceremony and feasts, and Sansa wasn’t sure how her hair was still being held in place by the elaborate braids and twists, much less why her makeup hadn’t become all smeared and turned her into some sort of hideous disfigured looking creature.

“You don’t have to lie to me just because I’m your wife now.”

His palm was steady and warm on her wrist, and she looked down at where he’d touched her before back to meeting his eyes again.

“I would never lie to you, about that, or anything else. I am yours, and you are mine, and there will never be secrets between us.”

He looked very serious, and Sansa almost worried perhaps she’d said the wrong thing, ruined the mood, but then he stepped closer, dropping her arm and instead reaching up to push away her bridal cloak, baring her neck and the minimal cleavage her dress revealed to his eyes and the air.

Suddenly the room felt hotter, despite her lessened layers of clothing, and she swore she couldn’t see straight.

His hands lit upon her shoulders, and as he pulled her close, she let her eyes fall shut, feeling the delicious anticipation build right before his lips finally met her own.

While his hands were occupied with her still covered shoulders, Sansa reached to part his jacket and sought out the seam of his shirt beneath, anxious to feel his bare skin under her fingers.

The kiss broke as she brushed a hand over the scar on his chest, still covered by one thin layer of his undershirt, and Petyr jolted slightly.

“Did I hurt you?”

Sansa asked instantly, her voice a hushed whisper, and he shook his head.

“No, you merely surprised me. You’re unusually eager tonight…despite the fact you’re far from the blushing virginal bride you should be.”

The reappearance of his smirk told her he was jesting, else she’d have had to go over all the reasons he was wrong, and she knew very well how much he appreciated her having learned many of the carnal arts, even though he was the only one she wielded them upon.

Indeed, he’d been the best teacher of that subject she’d ever had.

Stiff and bored tones of her septa telling her the facts and what went where in such a clinical and detached manner had always put her off the idea of ever doing it outside of being required to bear children, until she’d met Petyr, and had her eyes more than opened.

Her fingers slipped further under his layers, and found his left nipple, which she promptly tweaked, drawing a gasp from him,

“I think you know very well that you’ll enjoy tonight more than you would if I’d never touched or been touched by a man.”

She felt her lips curve into a smile, a sideways twist that was almost a smirk. She’d learned many things from him, least of all that.

Petyr’s eyes seemed to darken and he growled, pulling her impossibly closer, so that she could feel the press of his hardening cock in his trousers against her hip,

“And you my love know quite well if any other man _had_ touched you, I’d endeavor to wipe him from your memory. But I am quite glad to have been your teacher, for now I can reap all the benefits.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, but not before giving her a final smirk.

The next few minutes were a confusing dance containing fumbling hands and unsteady feet, and when they finally reached the bed, both were nearly naked.

It was far too much work to undress her husband in the North, so Sansa decided they would travel to Kings Landing for the change in weather just as soon as it was possible.

She looked forward to having him in single layers all of the time.

“Tell me sweetling, did you think this would ever happen?”

Petyr was nearly panting, eyes bent on devouring her body, bare before him, for perhaps the dozen most time, and as his clever fingers sought to tease her to madness, flicking over her clit and pressing just inside her, Sansa let her eyes close, and bit her lip, considering only a moment,

“Never in my wildest dreams, but I could not be more delighted with the outcome of my once foolish and childish plan.”

Petyr was nibbling her ear as he dragged her into her first orgasm, and before she’d even caught her breath, he was whispering,

“We were all young and foolish once love, do not be so hard on yourself.”

Sansa giggled airily, and wrapped her hand around his now weeping cock,

“I’d much rather _you_ were hard on me.”

Petyr actually laughed at that, though he’d likely seen it coming.

“That can be arranged…”

Though the fact was, he was on top of her most of the time, excepting the time they’d made love in the bathtub, so Sansa couldn’t help pointing that out, and after he’d fucked her into the furs for at least a few minutes, he placed a kiss on her forehead, before pulling out of her, tucking his leg under her legs, and flipping them over, putting her on top, at last.

“Queen of all she surveys…”

He murmured, looking up at her like she truly was queen of something, and Sansa suspected that perhaps his heart could be what she’d always ruled, and would forevermore.

She put her palm on his chest, to the right of the scar bisecting his chest, and began to ride him slowly, shifting her hips and twirling them just slightly, as it made his cock brush up against the most sensitive spot inside her, that his fingers always found without fail when he was trying to impress her. Actually, as she thought of it, that was every time. He was far too good at that for his own good.

She could feel herself getting close again, and she bit her lip, trying to concentrate, and she let her head fall backwards, so her hair wouldn’t be in the way, sticking to her sweaty chest.

It would hinder Petyr’s view of her breasts, which happened to look quite lovely in her current position.

Barely three seconds after she’d thought it, he was reaching up to cup one in each hand, his thumbs flicking over her already hard nipples, and he was chiding her,

“Stop trying to chase it love. It’ll come to you when your body is ready.”

She could have snapped at him in frustration, but she knew he was right. She suspected she just wasn’t getting enough stimulation, so she reached down to touch herself, right over where their bodies were joining, and Petyr groaned.

“You look so beautiful like this…I feel like the luckiest man in the Seven kingdoms.”

Sansa was panting now, but feverishly close,

“I thought I was _always_ beautiful.”

Petyr laughed again, and though laughter was thought to be a bad omen in the bedchamber, Sansa had always thought many people in Westeros probably took themselves too seriously while naked.

“You are…but you have no idea how you look to me now…like this, having come into your own and bloomed so much, it’s almost enough to make a grown man cry.”

Sansa bit her lip hard enough to taste blood as she felt the coil snap, and she jerked forward, letting her forehead press his, before moving to a more steady surface, his shoulder, gasping the second her orgasm hit, and she kept pressing her hips against his, over and over, until the shockwaves were simply making her shake and his hands moved to steady her, fingers digging into her skin.

“Gods above…that was incredible.”

Petyr pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and she felt his tongue slid between his lips and stroke over her skin.

“You have no idea. I doubt I’ve ever come as fast before.”

Sansa turned to look over at him,

“What?”

Petyr smirked,

“Yes love, I admit, you’ve seemed to turn me back into an adolescent in the bedchamber. Of course, I’ll need a moment to recover, but you hardly do. Tell me what you wish…”

Humming against his bare chest, Sansa let her eyes close,

“I don’t know if I want anything right now, I’ve never felt so comfortable or loved.”

Petyr chuckled softly,

“Indeed, but I believe you should probably let me out of you, then you are more than welcome to return to this position.”

Sansa nearly yelped in surprise. How could she have forgotten? She was probably crushing him.

She lifted up and his softened member slid out of her, along with the combination of their fluids, making her rather a mess, and she knew her cheeks were the color of her hair.

“I’m so sorry Petyr…”

His warm hand rubbed slow circles on her bare back,

“Not to worry. It would take more than that to hurt me, so don’t fret.”

Sansa hid her face in her hands, though she returned to lying beside him.

“I thought maybe I’d broken you.”

Petyr sighed, and shook his head,

“That is an exceedingly rare thing to occur, and I think I’d even find a way around it, should anything happen to me, _there._ ”

Sansa had a mad urge to laugh, but she didn’t want him to think it was directed at him, so she bit her tongue instead, and remained still, letting his hands sooth her as best he could.

One hand reached up to stroke back the stray hairs that had escaped her wedding hairstyle, and Sansa felt his index finger lifting her chin, so that she was looking right at him, no more hiding,

“What’s the matter?”

Sansa licked her lips, and winced when she felt the spot she’d bitten too hard,

“I just, I don’t understand, how I could become with child if it just…falls back out.”

She meant his seed, and yet, through all they’d done, she couldn’t say it, couldn’t let herself.

Petyr smiled understandingly,

“It’s hard to explain, but the very determined bits will succeed, if it’s meant to be. If your womb isn’t receptive, or it’s close to your moonblood, it might not be as likely, but could still happen. I shouldn’t think you’d want to become with child so quickly, would you?”

Sansa hadn’t really thought about it, but she knew it was why most of their encounters ended with him outside of her.

“I don’t know. But if I had to pick, I think I’d like a son, who was like you. Can you imagine?”

Before he could stop himself, it seemed, Petyr made a face.

“I’m not sure…I think it would be better to have a girl, with my wits and your beauty, she could conquer the world.”

Sansa laughed,

“Well I certainly don’t want to raise a queenslayer, so maybe she could rule after the Targaryen Dragons have passed.”

Petyr looked thoughtful,

“I wonder how long a dragon lives…it’s been so long since there has been one in Westeros, but the last known one, that survived the many battles the mad Targaryen’s put themselves in, lived to be over a hundred…so perhaps our grandchildren will rule someday.”

Sansa shrugged,

“If Daenarys is a good and just Queen, I don’t think we need to worry about it.”

Petyr kissed her forehead,

“Of course not sweetling. It’s just a thought.”

Sansa bit her lip, careful to avoid the sore spot,

“Do you think you’d be ready to go again?”

Petyr smiled,

“For you, always. But let’s go slow this time.”

Sansa nodded.

“After all, we have the rest of our lives.”

Petyr chuckled, leaning in to hover just over her lips before replying,

“And who knows? Maybe there is an afterlife.”

Sansa’s mind was blissfully blank once he’d begun to kiss her again, but she was coherent enough to agree.

Any lifetime, any place, she hoped they’d find each other.

They belonged together.

*

And so it was, the day that Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell arrived in Kings Landing once more, she was no longer on the run, or even alone, she was accompanied by her loyal and loving husband, Lord Baelish of the Fingerlands, and her sister, Lady Arya, Warden of the North, for what else could she be?

The one person Daenerys Targaryen remembered most clearly from the meeting was young Lyanna Mormont, the fierce and brave child ruler of the lands that her lover originally hailed from, and indeed, she’d never been more pleased to meet another Cub from Bear Island.

*

**END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #stillholdingoutforthisendingtbh


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